Requiem for a Jedi
by Valairy Scot
Summary: Obi-Wan Kenobi is "dead" - killed by a bounty hunter.  A massive deception, born of necessity, has repercussions that will reverberate in both personal and professional relationships.  Obi-Wan, Anakin, Ahsoka, Cade Bane & others.
1. Chapter 1

**Broken**

For the second time in his life, Anakin Skywalker was broken. His heart had shattered, not then, not at the actual blast that had sent Obi-Wan flying over the parapet, hand to his heart, but now at what was within his padawan's eyes.

Tears.

Those impossibly large eyes held a glaze in them that spoke poignant words of loss. Cradled in her arms…

"Obi-Wan!" Unlike his first roar of that name, when fear alone scrabbled at his heart as he stared down at the fallen Obi-Wan, yet with hope that this injury would prove minor and his fear groundless, this scream was of desolation and desertion. _Obi-Wan_! This second scream of his name as well as the third and the fourth came from awful realization. This was a wail of loss, an eruption of outrage that left him empty and shaking, unable to articulate another word, a name, or even hope.

Hope was dead, like Obi-Wan.

There was no denying it, not with the tears, not with Ahsoka holding Obi-Wan within her arms, not when he lay limp and unmoving, the scorch and grime of unwelcome death splattered over his heart. Just like Ahsoka's tears, that, too, told its terrible truth. Obi-Wan, the immaculate, the disdainer of dirty, who should be and would be in life brushing his tunics clean with a light quip about "how uncivilized" his attire had become. Obi-Wan, who should be chiding his padawan for losing his quarry…

No more...

No more oft-repeated and oft-ignored lectures. No more wry grins lighting up his eyes with a twinkle while the mouth remained firm; a proper Jedi serenity on the face and human mirth within the eyes. No more Anakin snapping a comeback and those lips lifting just a fraction in acknowledgement. None of that: never again, no more.

His partner in grief, his companion in pain, Ahsoka still knelt, her head bowed and her eyes not upon her own master but her master's master, Obi-Wan the only one free of pain this night. The tattoo of approaching footsteps and the wail of emergency vehicles, the sounds of the world about them, receded to non-awareness, out-shouted, suffocated, drowned by shockwaves rampaging through the Force: silent agony from Anakin like a thundering sea battering land, a silent tear from his padawan like a released drop of dew from an overloaded leaf. Amidst chaos: silence. Amidst silence: chaos. Amidst tragedy: a tableau, a trio of statues sculpted from marble and encased in ice, immobile, linked even in this moment; the shattered, the grieving – and the dead.

The thundering silence was broken by a whisper.

"He – he didn't suffer, Master." Another tear slipped free, fell like a benediction upon the still face, before the padawan finally looked up at her master. The words were meant to comfort, to ease pain. They could not, for the words damned him - he had not been there. He had not been there to whisper goodbye or thank you; had not been there to offer comfort or ease the passage into the Force, so how could he accept comfort for himself? He had failed: failed Obi-Wan, failed his mother, failed himself – he had sworn he would protect those he loved, promised he would _save_ them.

And that, even more than Obi-Wan's death, was intolerable. It left him - shattered.

"Master?" Ahsoka's voice wavered now, her concern moving from the one physically dead before her to the one emotionally dead crouching beside her. "Shouldn't we…uh…the Temple?"

Anakin wiped his hands on his knees, almost too numb to think, and then nodded silently. He knew the words could not be spoken by him. To speak of it would let the pain overcome him; numbness was much better. Let Ahsoka deal with reality while he shuddered inwardly in the face of it. He reached out a hand and squeezed her shoulder; indicated with a nod of his head that she was to go speak to the emergency responders as well as the Temple. Tell them they were Jedi and one of their own needed to be returned to his own so that his body could be sent to join his soul within the Force.

A sob shook his chest and Anakin forced it down and back. Sobs would not help Obi-Wan; sobs would not save him nor avenge him.

But Anakin Skywalker would.


	2. Chapter 2

**Thank you to all who have reviewed! Your kind comments are greatly appreciated and might even spur the muse to return.**

**Note: **this story is going to be written sort of on the fly as the arc develops on TCW. I promise no spoilers, though I am personally reading spoilers. I am putting my own spin on things, mainly with motivations and characterizations which is so underplayed in TCW. I don't know how closely I'll adhere to the arc because there's little point in writing someone else's story; this is MY version of that story, but until my muse returns I'm following TCW's plotline (with modifications, no doubt). If I stray too far, I'll let you know when I do.

**_Second note_**: this chapter has been revised (a small scenelet added) and over on tf.n it's been renamed Requiem for a Jedi - anyone want me to change the name on here to match?

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 2.<strong>

War demands sacrifice…it gives only suffering in return. ~~ FREDERIC CLEMSON HOWE, _Why War_

* * *

><p>Yoda and Mace Windu stood on the landing platform, a solemn reception. Mace took charge of the body, accompanying it within the Temple. Yoda remained. Anakin knelt and bowed his head. A small three-fingered hand rested on his shoulder. The gesture, Anakin understood, was not for his grief, but for Obi-Wan's loss, a show of solidarity.<p>

"Mourn not, young Skywalker…"

Helpless to stop the snarl on his lips, only to stop the torrent of abuse seeking release in words, Anakin shoved himself to his feet and free of Yoda's grasp, stalking off without a word. Anger, despair and grief trailed beside him, his constant companion now.

How could the Force do this to him? First it stole his mother, now it stole his former master. Was he not the Chosen One, the one meant to save others? The one who held the full power of the Force within his grasp, the one who should be able to summon life to those deprived of it? If there was such a power, he would find it. No more death…no one else. He would save those whom he loved.

It was a vow.

And in his grief and rage, he did not feel the Force tremble.

* * *

><p>"I'm sorry, Master." Ahsoka was too well trained to twist her hands in worry, eyes affixed on her master as he stalked away, so sad, so mad, so alone.<p>

"Sorry for what, Padawan Tano?" That brought her eyes back to Yoda. Kindness and curiosity showed there, not condemnation and most certainly not a rebuke. "Your fault it is not, Master Kenobi's fate."

"No, no, not that, I know that, Master." Ahsoka drew in a deep breath. "But Skyg – Master Anakin – he's taken this hard. He hasn't spoken a word; the Force is all twisted up like a knot within him. He – he grieves." She finished in a whisper because Jedi weren't supposed to grieve. Maybe not 'celebrate' death, certainly, but not grieve. Death was only a passage of life back to the Force, not something to fear.

But down deep she agreed with her master: death was most certainly something to grieve, at least for a while.

"Grief passes in time," the old Jedi said softly. "Transmutes into something softer, something less painful and sad. Sometimes, even, into acceptance and joy, for when grief leaves, it leaves room for joyful memories to return and provide comfort. Obi-Wan found this to be true; so too will your master. One day Anakin will smile and one day he will again find joy."

"I doubt Skyguy will ever find joy."

"He will, young padawan; he will." Yoda's voice was strong and confident, so very sure, but Ahsoka thought he was surely wrong. Anakin would carry grief deep within him until the end of his days.

"Master Yoda…what now?" To her dismay, Ahsoka's voice wavered.

"Now? Now we grieve and then we will move forward. To your master you go, hmm?"

"I – I don't know." And she didn't. Did Skyguy wish to be alone? She wished she knew; she wished she knew whether she wanted to be at his side or alone herself. If she escaped to her room alone, could she escape the memory of holding Master Kenobi's body in her arms? He wasn't Skyguy or Master Plo, but she revered him, trusted him, admired him. She could not imagine life without Master Kenobi's teasing of her master, his grave courteousness, or the warmth he buried behind Jedi reserve.

And poor Skyguy. He knew Master Kenobi many more years, had shared so much of his life with Master Kenobi.

If she was hurting, Anakin had to be devastated. _"Master Kenobi… oh, if you only knew what your death has done to him. If you had known, or even guessed, could you have hung on harder, hung on longer? Lived, so that Master Anakin wouldn't die inside like he did; lived so that he, too, could live?"_

Master Kenobi might now be in the Force, but neither one answered.

* * *

><p>Twelve pairs of eyes were intimidating; even with Master Kenobi amongst them. Eleven pairs of eyes, minus him, were almost comforting, for there was almost a sense of shared absence, comfort in being surrounded by other Jedi who understood what this loss meant.<p>

Ahsoka stuttered to a stop, her master's hand upon her shoulder. The Council had allowed Anakin his silence; allowed his padawan to speak for them both: no recriminations, no admonishments, no "There is no death, there is only the Force" reminders.

No questions, even. Just silence.

And that silence was what now unnerved her, for it was far too reminiscent of that fateful moment when – time froze, sounds ceased, and Master Kenobi - died.

_Before_ there had been sounds: the crack of a blaster, the thuds of pounding feet as the three Jedi separated in search of the sharpshooter, the thumping of her heart from the adrenaline – and then – and then –

Then there had been the flash of movement caught in the corner of her eye, a _thud_ as he –as Master Kenobi – hit the durocreet and that was when _before_ became _after _and all sound ceased. That's what she remembered now. The silence. The silence as the body – as Master Kenobi – lay outstretched with no groan of pain, and when she had scrabbled over to his – to Master Kenobi's – side, no solid beat-beat-beat of a living heart. No soft exhalation of breath, no pulse, no life when not many moments before the three of them had laughed together on their way back to the Temple.

All that was before: before the sniper.

Before: when she cradled Master Kenobi in her arms and realized it was not him, only the body he had been allowed to wear in life and which now lay discarded and empty. And after the silence and during it: touch and smell; horror. Rough fabric against her finger tips, the soft brush of beard against her forearm, the weight of a muscular man resting across her legs…it was so real, once more, the stench and scorch of a blaster bolt burning in her nostrils like the acid burning of bile in her stomach…

Ahsoka shuddered: seeing again the patterned floor of the Council chamber beneath her feet. If she looked up, she would see the empty seat slightly off to her left, if she looked off to the side she would see her master standing, so still, so contained, so hurt and oh, so very silent because grief and anger still tightened his throat and thrummed through his veins. His voice had fled – then – rocking his master's body in his arms, mouthing words – commands – to bring life back to the dead.

But not even the Chosen One could reclaim one already lost to the Force, no matter how fervent his voiceless whispers or violent his pleas within that same Force.

Anakin's hand settled gently on her shoulder, squeezing his appreciation that she had taken this burden from him, this recitation to an uncommonly kind Council. She, too, was grateful: that the Council had allowed Anakin his silence, had allowed her the time to lose herself in harsh memories without comment.

She blinked, slowly raising her eyes but only to stare out the large window as she tried to regain her composure. So much traffic out there, so many folks flitting about their lives, their concerns important to them but so petty to her at this solemn time.

Not just now, but these past few months, during this war. So many dead in this war: so many faces, the remembered and the barely remembered, too many for a mere Jedi apprentice to keep track of. Skyguy remembered; only Anakin remembered all their names; she still struggled with some. Anakin's men: her men, the men of the 501st. So many - too many.

And now, Master Kenobi.

Master Kenobi had finally seen the end of war, not within his lifetime, but at its end.

* * *

><p>Deep within the Temple there lived a secret, one known only to the Council. Safe in the healers' custody lay Obi-Wan Kenobi, still clad in scorched tunics and inert upon a padded platform. A droid hovered over the body, bio sensors twitching.<p>

"There are no viable life signs," a metallic voice intoned. "The subject is deceased."

Mace Windu stood, arms crossed at the foot of the platform. Brown eyes grimly traveled the length of the body, noting the scorch marks but no sign of other bruising, no misshapen limbs indicating broken bones. He let a breath hiss out of his chest. The only damage was to the chest; none had been incurred by the fall, a rather lengthy one by Padawan Tano's report.

"Your death has shocked rather a lot of folks, Obi-Wan." One might almost think the tone was soberly amused if one was not witness to Mace's grim face – and the body before him. He laid the back of one hand against the still cheek beneath him and sighed. Mace had never quite realized how vibrant the reserved master was in life, only now when life was fled was it apparent by its absence. Strange, how death illuminated life, he mused in a rare moment of reflection.

"Quite an impressive list of guests has flocked here for your funeral; it's a shame you're unable to see the impact you have had on some many lives. Don't worry, your funeral will be dignified as befits one of our finest and no speeches – such would only be an unhappy reminder of your eloquence. As for Anakin, he has taken this much as expected, but don't worry, Yoda and I will be speaking to him as soon as feasible."

With a final pat to an immobile leg, a troubled Mace left the cubicle, not looking forward to _that_ conversation. Difficult would be the understatement of the century, but war had taught the Jedi – the Council – that in war there was nothing but difficulty. Choices were between bad decisions and disastrous decisions.

War blurred lines dividing moral and immoral. War demanded sacrifices.

_The greater good_. He snorted at the thought. Losing men to gain ground; sacrificing soldiers to save civilians.

He really hated war, this war: the things war made them do. He hated the damage done to innocents and the choices forced upon the Jedi in order to protect and preserve the Republic and its citizens.

He hated most of all that because of the war – he hated.

It was time to meditate and loosen his hate into the Force. Hate had no place in a Jedi's life.

* * *

><p>Hate rose like bile within Anakin Skywalker's throat. It had been a mistake to come here, to the quarters he had once shared with Obi-Wan. Here he had been a boy raised to adulthood, a padawan raised to a knight. In all his life, he had had two constant companions: first his mother, then the cherished blip that had been Qui-Gon, then Obi-Wan.<p>

All three had been torn away from him. Death was a cruel dagger that severed his life into before and after. Before he lost his loved ones, and after, when he was set adrift on a sea of grief.

What lay open before him was not before, only a representation of before, something to mock him. The room breathed of Obi-Wan in its tidiness, not a thing out of place. Like the man who lived here, it was a façade of orderliness and at first glance lifeless. Underneath one sensed warmth, the layer of textures and creases that turned sterility into – home.

Not the home he had called his life with his mother or the home he called his life with his wife. Those homes were simple havens, built simply on love, not complex layers, built on discipline overlain on love.

Obi-Wan had not been mother, not wife, not family. He had been so much less and so much more: he had been father and brother, teacher and friend, solid ground and unwanted conscience. He had been the leash that defined the perimeter he was allowed to explore, something resented and appreciated in turn.

Anakin now wanted and now needed Obi-Wan's guidance, be it lecture, advice or a hand on his shoulder accompanying a cup of tea. _Ironic_, he could almost hear Obi-Wan murmur, _that you only want my help when I cannot offer it; that you need me to help you through my death when I am, well, dead and no longer able to help you._

_Dammit it, Obi-Wan_! Anakin slammed his hand into a pillow and knocked it off the couch to the floor, howled his outrage, grief and pain to the Force. _How dare you die, how could you do this to me_! He kicked the pillow so hard it thudded into the wall. _Dammit it, Obi-Wan!_

But not even his silent curses held the power to rouse Obi-Wan from the dead with a request to watch his language.

Neither did his vow of vengeance.


	3. Chapter 3

Ch3 fix

**Chapter 3.**

The moral reality of war is divided into two parts. War is always judged twice, first with reference to the reasons states have for fighting, secondly with reference to the means they adopt...

MICHAEL WALZER, _Just and Unjust Wars_

Amongst many stood one alone.

In this hallowed hall of mourning, serenity and solemnity reigned supreme. Those whom the Jedi master had touched, not just Jedi, but friends outside the Order, some of them politicians - the latter an occupation which Obi-Wan pretended to abhor - circled the funeral crypt: Satine Kryze, Duchess of Mandalore; Senators Bail Organa; Padmé Amidala, and Mon Mothma most notably. Absent was Chancellor Palpatine, who had sent his heartfelt regrets and deepest condolences.

Only the soft sobs of one broke the silence. Duchess Satine, whom Anakin had once teased was Obi-Wan's "girlfriend" on a mission he had dared to call "romantic" not long ago. That had earned him a withering look, but then Obi-Wan had never been one to willingly reveal feelings, especially ones potentially so personal.

There had been _something_ between them and, as then, he suspected it had been more than the intimacy of a year-long mission, no matter what Obi-Wan had said. It wasn't just the soft tones his master adopted when recounting missions with Qui-Gon, but the gentle admiration for the sharp-tongued Duchess that had warmed his voice as he recounted the year "on the run" guarding a woman dedicated to peace.

Peace was a fragile edifice, as Anakin well knew, built on a foundation sunk into human avarice, greed, and selfishness. Peace for Mandalore had been won, but if peace were ever to hold, it needed more than victory – it needed to win the heart and the soul of the populace, the defeated and the victorious both. True peace could not be won, only earned – and Anakin had felt how deeply Obi-Wan wished to see peace seep into the foundation that Mandalore rested upon.

"_You didn't stay to help her." _

"_That would have been – problematic. My duty as a Jedi demanded I be elsewhere. "_

"_Demanded? But it's obvious you had feelings for her,"_ Anakin had protested, but of course, Obi-Wan had let duty lead him away.

"_I live by the Jedi Code."_ The simple statement had been layered; an excuse and a reason both, Anakin thought. Always with Obi-Wan, principles had trumped people and duty had trumped self-interest, something Anakin found maddening and now – unutterably sad. What had Obi-Wan earned in his too short life – only this, a handful of mourners who only paid lip service to grief and in a few short days would cease to remember one Obi-Wan Kenobi.

He had more than existed: he had lived, even if Obi-Wan had never allowed himself to really live life to its fullest. Oh, he had his moments. He had laughed, oh how he could laugh when he allowed himself more than an amused chuckle. Witty and wry quips, a sign of the mirthful depths buried fathoms deep and his humor, so dry that were he on Tatooine the planet would burst out in tears of shame, soon to be awash in salty seas.

Feeling a hypocrite at that time, aboard the Duchess's ship and yet not ashamed in the least, Anakin had continued on as if in agreement, _"As Master Yoda says, a Jedi must not form attachments."_

And Obi-Wan, stoic, grave, placid Obi-Wan murmured something Anakin had never thought to hear: in Obi-Wan's dulcet tones the words were almost a harsh indictment of the Code that the Jedi would never consciously rebel against: _"Yes, but he usually leaves out the undercurrent of remorse." _

That had been the closest Obi-Wan had come to opening up to Anakin as a fellow human being, a man with regrets and sorrows to match his joys. Always Obi-Wan, ever Obi-Wan, Master Kenobi had slipped for a precious moment into someone Anakin scarcely knew and wished he had known better. He had refrained from showing actual vulnerability, but had shown his humanity. The war had done that, Anakin was now realizing, stripping away the veneer of Jedi serenity under the ruthless assault of exhaustion and horror.

War dehumanized so many in Anakin's experience, but ever contrary, war had only humanized Obi-Wan. And now war had torn him away.

In a distant corner of his mind Anakin noted his padawan, standing at Plo Koon's side and eyes upon him. She was too concerned for one living to grieve the dead; a part of him resented that on Obi-Wan's behalf but then he supposed that he grieved enough for two. In any case he was incapable of truly caring. He was drained of all but anger and even it flickered beneath his frozen exterior, seeking an outlet. It would explode into fiery ignition when time, for nothing and no one could quench the fire for vengeance.

"I'm worried about Anakin; he hasn't spoken a word since it happened." Ahsoka risked a glance away from her master to her informal mentor. _Please tell me how to help him_. She knew she should focus on the funeral, show honor to the fallen man who had been almost a second master, but Master Obi-Wan had always taught her by example that a Jedi put duty first. A padawan's duty was her master.

She honored Master Obi-Wan by worrying about Anakin. She could almost hear him saying, "The living take precedent over the dead; the hurting take precedent over those beyond hurt."

So with what would be his blessing were he able to voice it, she buried her guilt as the draped body sank into the crypt. As the tongue of light flamed to the sky, she had eyes only for Anakin, thoughts only for his pain.

Master Plo touched her elbow, nudging her away. Master Kenobi was released to the Force; the funeral over, it was time to depart. Looking over her shoulder she saw that Anakin alone remained. Face twisted in silent grief, hands no doubt clenched into fists at his side, he sank to his heels. With a keening sound of distress, his hands crept from the depths of his sleeves; pressed against his knees to brace himself while his face retreated further into his cowl, withdrawn and cloaked in shadows. A shiver iced up her spine.

Without Master Obi-Wan at his side his very light seemed diminished.

Obi-Wan Kenobi lay on a padded platform behind a locked cubicle door as a medical droid ran a scan over him. It had already taken a blood sample and confirmed that the drug to suppress his vital signs had all but cleared out of his system, though he could attest he was still a bit less clear-headed than he liked. His bones told him it had been a hard fall, even broken by boxes.

All in all, it meant he felt a trifle achy, a tad tired, and uncommonly testy – all of which could be put to good use in the ruse to come.

He sighed, still uneasy over the Council's decision that had led to him being here "dead." He had acquiesced: a battle lost was best accepted gracefully and yet – his deep concerns remained.

Those "concerns" were not for his role or the danger thereon, but for the individuals affected, foremost amongst them his former padawan.

Still, reluctant or not, duty had demanded that steps be taken to protect the Chancellor from an imminent and not entirely clear plot and no other alternate course had been deemed acceptable by a majority of the Council, led by Mace Windu. Duty! Duty always triumphed over personal concerns, but Obi-Wan knew that when it came to his padawan, Anakin Skywalker's concerns could result in consequences that the Council could not foresee. Elaboration of his disquiet, further argument that this course of action would only antagonize and foment distrust in the Order's most formidable knight would be counterproductive serving only to convince the Council that the young Knight was one too ruled by emotion and too little by necessity.

Obi-Wan could not betray and would not diminish his former padawan like that. Better a deception that wouldn't be as perpetuating. One way or the other, however, the master expected repercussions that might well shatter their relationship, but better Anakin be severed from his master than from the Order.

In the end, after an acrimonious and testy Council session, Obi-Wan had found an unhappy middle ground, exacting a promise that either Yoda or Mace would fill Anakin in as soon as possible. The whole charade depended on Anakin's authentic reaction to his death: only the distraught Knight and his grief would sell Obi-Wan Kenobi's "death" but there was absolutely no reason not to divulge the truth shortly after.

Obi-Wan did not envy the master that would be tasked with facing an angry and no-doubt-feeling-betrayed Anakin Skywalker. Not even Master Yoda would be immune from his former padawan's curt tongue and Obi-Wan found he could not even care, no matter how egregious the potential violation of courtesy and protocol. What they were doing – to Anakin especially - was a terrible deception, no matter how necessary. Forgiveness might well prove elusive; Anakin was not one to forgive easily and quite frankly, Obi-Wan wasn't sure any of them were even entitled after perpetuating a deception of this magnitude.

"If you are no longer feeling dizzy, Master Jedi, you may sit up now." The attending medical droid intoned in its metallic voice. "Your bio signs have normalized and are now within normal parameters; your death has been successfully reversed."

"Yes, well, I don't doubt that you would see it that way for some reason. Chalk one up to Jedi healing." He looked up as the door slid open to admit Mace and Yoda, burying his misgivings under false cheer. "So, how was my funeral?"

"A better performance than you your corpse gave," Yoda grunted, causing Obi-Wan to raise an eyebrow in surprise at the curtness of the comment before he realized Yoda was just as apprehensive as he. Yes, Yoda had expressed some reservations about this plan and while committed to it, wasn't above expressing his displeasure at the need. Well, Obi-Wan wasn't too happy about it, either, but he had taken the fall for the Council – literally – and risked his relationship with his former padawan to boot. Surely that alone should be worth something, not such a disparaging comment.

"Whatever do you mean? I fell from the top of a building; I could have killed myself," he reminded Yoda, letting a little of _his_ disgruntlement over the whole situation be known.

"Survived worse you have; young Skywalker knows this," Yoda retorted.

Yes, well, Obi-Wan preferred not to go there. Some memories, once released, were best left released and not relived.

Absently rubbing a shoulder, he found that he could not as easily dismiss the memory of Anakin's reaction then and squelched a wince. His padawan had been so distraught while he – no, no best not to go there – deep breath, release, let it go – let it go. Anakin, yes, Anakin, focus on Anakin. Or perhaps not; this time the mental wounds were inflicted with his full knowledge and cooperation, unlike then. Selling Anakin's reaction was his best option for returning alive from this undercover mission, he knew that and so did the Council, but no matter how necessary, it was a cruel thing to do. Not just to his former padawan, but to others as well; he had not asked who had attended his funeral as he had no wish to know: the fewer things weighing down his conscience at this time the better; his full attention needed to be directed at the mission.

_This is all for a good reason; this is necessary. _The Chancellor was far too important to risk; better to risk his relationship with Anakin. Obi-Wan was all too intimately related with losses, what would one more be? One more loss to absorb and move on from: just another casualty of war, just another sacrifice at the altar of duty.

_You keep trying to persuade yourself, Kenobi. You don't fear the mission, dangerous as it is; you fear the consequences far more – and now that you've admitted it, release that fear to the Force so you can do what you have to do. _

"There's no way that he could know I'm alive," he said softly.

Perhaps Yoda sensed a bit of his feelings, perhaps not, but he had clearly heard the unspoken plea in that last comment: _Don't leave Anakin long to grieve me! _ Whether it was meant to assuage that flicker of doubt yet to depart or was a transparent attempt to assuage his own misgivings, Yoda simply replied. "Not know, sense he will that something is not right."

However meant, that was simply not reassuring. If Anakin were not clued in soon he would pursue Obi-Wan's assumed persona with or without the Council's permission, and Anakin Skywalker was not a foe to be trifled with. The last thing Obi-Wan wanted to deal with was a rampaging former padawan who could blow his cover – or be hurt or worse in his pursuit of an assassin already in custody.

Because if he was ever forced to choose…duty and honor both required Obi-Wan to put the Chancellor, the Republic and all its citizens before one man, Force help his conscience, but forced to a choice between his padawan and himself there was no doubt whose well-being he would put first. He would more than willingly jeopardize or even sacrifice his own life long before he would allow Anakin to be harmed.

That was a vow and a promise; one witnessed by the Force.

"What's done is done; we need to get your transformation underway." Mace was all business; all Jedi, seemingly concerned only with getting this done without regard to any of the people affected. It was the Jedi master's way of coping, finding refuge in dispassion and duty, but to the detriment of the compassion Obi-Wan knew was within him. Some charades evolved into realities. War was changing all of the Jedi, in ways large and small.

When all was said and done, blasters and lightsabers returned to belts and no longer turned against others – what kind of Jedi would they then be and perhaps more important, what kind of men? Would their light be forever tarnished or would the stains of war be absorbed into the Force in one of the greatest acts of absolution known to the galaxy?

_May the Force have pity on all our souls_.

With a slight look askance and a shrug of his shoulders, Obi-Wan muttered, "Well, time for a shave." As the droid began shaving his head, he invited Mace to tell him more about his target.

A hologram of a Phindian's head sprang up from the projector plate in Mace's hand.

Moralo Eval, a known associate of Count Dooku, Mace explained. The underworld was rife with rumor that Eval was involved in a plot against the Chancellor, expected to take place in three days on Naboo during a celebration. Aware of the plot, the Chancellor insisted that he had every confidence that the Jedi could protect him from harm and would attend rather than withdraw.

It wasn't the first time Palpatine's confidence in the Jedi made life so much more complicated than it needed to be. This whole horrible charade could be so easily avoided if the Chancellor simply stayed safe on Coruscant. Obi-Wan knew that, Mace knew that, and Yoda knew that; no point in stating the obvious.

The Council's plan was simple: under an assumed identity, Mace would hire a bounty hunter of known skill and equal bravado named Rako Hardeen to murder Obi-Wan Kenobi. After time sufficient to brag of his bounty, the Jedi would take Hardeen into custody and Obi-Wan would take his place. After infiltration into prison as his own assassin, the Jedi-killer "Hardeen" would obtain the details of the plot from Eval and then wait for extraction.

It was hoped that Hardeen's reputation as a "Jedi killer," and not of just any Jedi, but that of a well known Jedi master and council member, would give Obi-Wan instant credibility upon insertion. Obi-Wan was less certain; most of the prisoners had reputations of their own and he suspected that Jedi-killer or not, Eval would be slow to trust anyone new with details of any plot against the Chancellor.

"Any details that might help me gain his trust?" He looked at Mace expectantly.

"He killed his mother when still a boy, told the authorities he did it because he was bored."

Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow. How charming. "Well, then, I'll try not to bore him."

"Not a game is this, Obi-Wan; the risks great they are."

Which _of course_ explained the bad feeling he had had since that cursed Council meeting. He withstood Yoda's scrutiny impassively. Let Yoda glare at him. He was not a padawan to be chastised, even if it felt as if years were being removed along with hair.

Speaking of which…

He ran a hand over his scalp, marveling at the feel of so much skin. It was a strange sensation but he was sure that he would soon adapt. The loss was impermanent and if he felt just a bit vulnerable – well, so be it. A feeling of vulnerability might well be an asset; help keep his senses honed and alert to danger.

At least this part of the process had been painless. As for the next step– he had a very bad feeling it would not go so well. So be it. He was no stranger to pain; he would survive it as he had survived so much else.

He slid his legs onto the table and leaned back as the droid positioned the machine beside his head. With a flick of a switch, a long needle extended itself forward and into his neck. _Well, this isn't so bad…yet;_ just a mere pinprick, at least at first but as the contents emptied into his system, he hastily retracted that statement in favor of - no, _painful _was a terrible understatement. Agonizing? Excruciating? Yes; yes, that would work. Excruciating. Perhaps this was his just recompense for his role in this deception…

Mace hurriedly grabbed hold of one arm to hold Obi-Wan from writhing off the platform, his face etched with sudden concern as a paroxysm of shudders and involuntary muscle spasms threw the Jedi master from side to side, his face contorted in a desperate attempt to restrain his agonized grunts and groans and maintain at least a semblance of tight-lipped control before his audience of two senior Jedi. Every nerve and sinew, muscle and bone stretched and flexed: he was being torn apart and rearranged from the inside out; overloaded nerve synapses flamed red hot beneath his skin. _Ah, ah_, _Force, Anakin, nothing you can do to me can equal this…ahhh!_

A ragged cry burst from his lips as his back arched into the air, ripping him away from Mace's restraining hand before he slumped back to the platform and sucked in a deep breath of warm, wonderful air.

And just like that, only the echo of his agony remained, felt in the thudding of his heart and the tingling of his newly arranged face. It had been an eternity of torment, though perhaps only seconds for Mace and Yoda.

"Well that was – fun."

Strangely, no one, including him, found the attempt at a joke anything but pitiful.

In the funeral chamber stood only a few mourners, most of the Jedi departed. Obi-Wan Kenobi had been sent into the Force; there was little reason to remain.

Those remaining were loath to leave, loath to sever the last thread to the dead. There would be no memorial tablet to lay flowers upon, no place except within heart and mind to mourn, for the Jedi Temple was not open without invitation to non-Jedi.

Senator Padmé Amidala focused not on the dead, but on the dying, for on the other side of the room stood her poor husband, so very alone. She longed to go to him, wrap her arms around him and encourage him cry into her shoulder, but that would have to be later. Now, he died alone, dying on the inside, pieces of him chipping away with each second, with each unshed tear.

Anakin was so torn up, so very hurt by Obi-Wan's murder. She wasn't even sure he was aware of her presence here at the funeral; his eyes held a blank feral look that admitted of no softness and no grief. He was – lost. Lost, in pain, so full of fear and fury without Obi-Wan; lost as he had been after the murder of his mother. Fragile, like then, so very fragile that not even her arms could soothe him. Not now, not yet.

He would come to her when he was ready; when the hard edges of his pain melted into sobs.

Leaving her heart with the man she loved, she reluctantly turned her eyes to the woman at her side. Satine and she had forged a tentative friendship some time back. There had been no time to forge anything deeper but both women were united in a mutual friendship with Obi-Wan Kenobi and now both were united in grief for that same man.

Somehow Padmé had avoided tears, perhaps by focusing on Anakin and his needs rather than the dead, much as she had done years before at Master Jinn's pyre. Anakin had and Anakin would always come first; she justified it now as putting the one in pain before the one no longer in pain. Obi-Wan would want it that way. Obi-Wan always wanted what was best for Anakin.

Because of that, Obi-Wan had wanted her to distance herself from Anakin. As much as she resented that she understood. Anakin put her ahead of everything: put her ahead of duty, ahead of destiny, ahead of the multitudes that needed him. A Knight should not so need, be so attached, but her husband was and always would be more than a Knight to her: he was Anakin Skywalker. Even if the Jedi shouldn't need her, the man did, and she put the man ahead of the Jedi.

Obi-Wan wanted what was best for Anakin: that was all that mattered now when all that was left of him were memories. Anakin had loved his master and his master - he had hidden it well, but the sentiment had been returned.

_Goodbye, Obi-Wan – and I forgive you_.

A soft sniffle brought her attention back to the moment. In the entire assembly, only Satine Kryze seemed to grieve the man rather than what his loss had represented. The Jedi present had been stoic as always, any grief sublimated and released to leave them seemingly untouched by sorrow. Anakin, somehow never part of "the Jedi" in her mind, was too lost in his pain to grieve. She and his padawan, Ahsoka, were focused on husband and master respectively, not Obi-Wan.

Of them all, Satine alone had cried.

"I'm sorry; I rarely give in to tears." Satine wiped her eyes dry. She had noticed no one else seemed overcome with emotion, and remembering, her lips curled a bit in derision – Jedi were so unfeeling sometimes, preaching detachment and mourning nothing - but then her eyes fell.

_No, Jedi like to pretend they don't feel, even Obi_, _but they do – I know they do_.

Obi.

Dear, dear Obi.

He had never fooled her. Even when she was most angry at him, she was angry at his pretense of emotional detachment for she knew he felt – could see it in the wry twist of his lips, by a glint in his eyes, or a barely noticeable undertone to his placidly infuriating voice. Obi-Wan Kenobi was a walking contradiction: he felt deeply and yet not at all. So typical of him: to be so very human and to be so very Jedi. Infuriating, the both of them. Dear to her heart as well.

A man and a Jedi the galaxy would miss, even if it knew it not.

Another tear trickled down her cheek; she angrily brushed it away. Once, Obi-Wan had been there to brush her tears away, those moments of weakness during that long year on Mandalore.

"You and Obi-Wan; I didn't realize you two were that – close," Padmé ventured softly.

Satine stiffened. Whatever had been between them had been long ago and it would stay in the past. The past was full of old wounds; the present only tearing open the scabs.

"We had an – odd – relationship. I loathed the warrior life he led and never hesitated to let him know that," she quietly admitted. Loathed the life and grown to love the man. Her eyes softened. "I admired him greatly and fought with him frequently. He often drove me to distraction and yet – and yet, somehow being in his presence always made me feel safe and happy."

"Anakin told me you introduced him to your court as a 'collection of half-truths and hyperbole known as Obi-Wan Kenobi,' not so long ago. It rather amused him, although I gather Obi-Wan wasn't too pleased."

_I've always known how to annoy him, not that I'm proud of that._ "I've called him worse as well; somehow his ego has always managed to survive - oh." Satine clapped a hand over her mouth, eyes widening in horror. _Now all I can call him is – gone_.

Noticing her distress, Padmé slipped an arm around Satine's shoulder in support.

_Goodbye, Obi…I – I did love you, even when I most disliked you. I didn't lie, there on the Coronet._


	4. Chapter 4

So, the 4 episode arc is concluded, a bit confusingly, I thought. I may have fun with it when I get to that point and I'll go more into the Obi-Wan - Anakin dynamic than the episode did - after all that WAS the meats and potatoes of the arc, sadly diminished in the actual episodes.

Although this chapter is just the beginning of the action to come, it'll still be character-based rather than action-based.

And a big **THANKS** to all your reviews - it's helping the muse come out of hiding, just a bit. Maybe I haven't totally lost my touch after all.

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><p><strong>Chapter 4<strong>.

_One can survive everything nowadays, except death, and live down anything, except a good reputation. ~~ Oscar Wilde_

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><p>Into a seedy bar in the dingy underskirts of Coruscant strode Rako Hardeen, full of self congratulation and expectant of a big payout. Jedi weren't easy to kill, even in ambush or from a distance. The murder of Obi-Wan Kenobi was a bounty that would spread his reputation far and wide, give him the bargaining power to raise his rates, to indulge in a better class of alcohol and feminine companionship.<p>

His helmet under his arm, he gazed around, wary of danger before settling himself at the bar. He was not surprised to see a woman a stool or two away eye him appreciatively before leaning over to get a better look. He was a well built man, if not particularly tall; his body promised and delivered strength and endurance. After his business was concluded, he might well let her discover just what Rako Hardeen could deliver, well, that is, if he didn't find someone a bit more classy.

Classy, yeah, that was it. He wasn't fussy about companionship, a female was pretty much a female under the sheets, but classy would be nice, a great way to celebrate his elevation in the bounty hunter rankings. Rako Hardeen had scored a Jedi and he was a real somebody now.

The Anacondan bartender uncoiled its upper body and lowered its head to a polite distance to ask his choice of drink.

"A shot of your finest."

He swiveled to the room, oh, how he would enjoy this moment. With a sweep of his arm he announced, "I'm celebratin'. The death of a Jedi…," he paused, to savor the news, "I killed Obi-Wan Kenobi."

Oohs and aahs of appreciation and delight spread throughout the room. Down on this level, Jedi were the scum; meddlesome busybodies trying to convert dishonest business to honest and interfering with the dictates of evolution by protecting the weak from the strong. Government fops, bullies and thugs in their own way, relying on hocus pocus and magic rather than hard work and skill. Strip a Jedi of his Force and he wouldn't last long down here.

Hardeen had become an instant hero and he intended to make the most of it.

He tipped his drink to the crowd, downed it in one gulp and ordered another as the patrons lifted their glasses in salute.

This indeed was going to be just the start of his celebration.

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><p>Anakin finally roused from where he was sunk deep within himself. The room was empty, now. Obi-Wan was gone and so too were his mourners.<p>

Gone. His lips trembled and his hands shook as it finally, irrevocably hit him. Obi-Wan was dead – gone – and he had been brooding instead of grieving, thinking of his pain rather than mourning his best friend.

He reached out a hand, his flesh hand and laid it over the crypt. "I'm sorry, Obi-Wan," he whispered, the words raspy coming from a throat dry from lack of use. "It's not all me, not all wishing to avenge you. It's not about me, truly, but it's the only way to deal with the pain of losing you. I miss you, so much. I – I loved you and I never told you, did I? Jedi don't speak those words, but it is true and I think you knew it. I knew you loved me, so you must have known I loved you. You did, didn't you?"

"Oh, Ani, I'm sure he knew; I knew." His wife knelt beside him in the shadows as her hand reached out to take his.

"Padmé!" His heart leaped; he was not alone, never alone with Padmé at his side.

"Shhh. We're alone now. It's safe to cry now, Ani; I'm here to hold you."

And the wife wrapped her arms around her husband as Anakin fell into her embrace, finally letting go some of the choked up pain. But where pain had been, anger and fury crept in to fill the hole that grief and pain left behind.

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><p>Summoned to meet his employer in a back room, Rako threw down some credits with a "Drinks for the house," and with a roar of approval propelling him down the dark hallway, pushed open a door and stepped into shadows.<p>

His mysterious employer spoke from the darkness. "Well done, Mr. Hardeen. You have done precisely the job we hired you for. We have your credits right here," a hand gestured to his credits, "but first, one more thing…" his employer stood and take a few steps forward, out of the shadows. "…your clothes."

"What the –" Hardeen took an involuntary step back as another Rako Hardeen stood before him, hand extended in a soft request that was anything but: it was a demand cloaked in the velvet of a soft and cultured voice. Alarms flared within Rako. That voice…he knew that voice and it wasn't the voice of the man who had hired him. It was the voice, he swore it was, of the man he had murdered. Dressed like a Jedi, looking like Rako himself, wanting the clothes off his back - and the pieces clicked. This was the man he had killed. A stinking Jedi. He backpedaled, thinking furiously until a hand slapped onto his shoulder and pinned him in place.

Another stinking Jedi.

There was nothing to do but comply with two stinking Jedi in the room. Rako stripped off his outer clothing sullenly before his hands were bound and it was strongly "suggested" he sit or be sat down.

"This is stupid, confessing to a murder I didn't even do," Rako spat to the bald Jedi interrogating him.

"Oh, but you did. For all intents and purposes, Obi-Wan Kenobi is dead and that certainly was your intention." The supposedly dead Jedi walked forward into the light, adjusting Rako's clothing with a combination of fastidious distaste and begrudging approval. "Do we have enough recording?"

The bald Jedi nodded and produced an object the size of a teazle ball, a vocal emulator. Rako knew enough about droid construction to recognize the object but he had never heard of one being used on sentient life forms. Was the Jedi supposed to wear it or eat it – surely the Jedi didn't stoop to field surgery to implant something like this, at least in a dingy dive like this.

"I believe so," he tossed the object to the other Jedi, who stared at it for a moment with what might have been a flicker of fear, or doubt or just plain old foreboding.

"How do I…?"

That was the same question in Rako's mind.

"You swallow it," the big Jedi said with a hint of dry humor in his words as he turned to Rako and passed a hand before his eyes. "You can go to sleep now."

He heard, as if from a distance, a softly voiced, "oh, dear."

For a moment Rako almost felt sorry for the Jedi.

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><p>A few hours with Padmé had soothed Anakin's jangled nerves. He had cried, stomped, and paced away much of his pain, but much still lingered beneath his skin and within his heart. It joined the pain from losing his mother, an itch that couldn't be scratched, a demand that those who so callously took life should pay the price.<p>

Blood calls to blood. Obi-Wan would argue differently, than hate was best conquered with forgiveness, darkness overcome with light, injustice with justice.

But Obi-Wan had never loved enough to hate deeply; he had never known the thrumming call in his veins. He had touched – and recoiled – from the dark on Naboo; one moment in which only Qui-Gon had mattered and no Jedi code of conduct; where being a man had overtaken his being a Jedi.

Anakin knew both hate and love far more intimately. He had not recoiled from the dark on Tatooine, but embraced it; it was a part of him now, even if not a part he was proud of. _Those who steal life should have life stolen from them in return_. Palpatine had not exactly said that to him, but the very fact that he understood Anakin's actions that date and did not condemn them had in some way said that very thing. Where there was no justice, it was up to each to seek his own.

Obi-Wan's murderer could not be allowed to go free, to boast and celebrate his deed. Already word on the street said he was partying and drinking hard, probably how Yoda had discovered Hardeen's whereabouts. It was only right and only just that Yoda give the duty of arresting the scumbag to Obi-Wan's padawan. Now, with Ahsoka flying beside him, Anakin was going to find that bounty hunter and fling him into prison so fast and hard that with luck he might rebound off the walls and crack his head open.

He smiled grimly at the mental picture. He wasn't going to lay a hand on the man unless forced to, but dear Force, let Hardeen pull a weapon on him and he _would _do what he must. If the Force was merciful, it would nudge Hardeen into resistance and allow Anakin to thrust him into oblivion.

Ahsoka at his side, he strode into the bar, ignited his lightsaber and growled, "Hardeen?" The room was silent, but no one raised any objection. They weren't intimidated, they were drunk. Anakin was almost disappointed; a good fight would have worked out some of his pent up feelings before confronting Hardeen.

"Back room," the bartender hissed, its tongue slipping in and out.

With solid thwack to the entry panel, Anakin stood framed in the doorway ready for anything but the quiet that awaited. The Force hummed in disquiet but was strangely devoid of actual warning. Hardeen lay on his side, oblivious to the two Jedi who had so unceremoniously entered the room. Peering over his shoulder, Ahsoka asked, "Is he dead?"

"He will be," Anakin snarled. In two long strides, he reached the man's side and grasped a shoulder to roll Hardeen onto his back.

"Eh, a Jedi?" the man slurred, barely cranking open an eye. He rolled back, his eyes closing. "Already killed a Jedi today, lemme sleep."

"He's not dead, he's drunk," Anakin shot over his shoulder to Ahsoka, disgust coloring his words. Turning back to Hardeen, he yanked hard, "Get up, you filth." Slamming Hardeen against the wall, hard, he growled, "If it was up to me, I'd kill you right here."

Only Anakin's hands kept the bounty hunter on his feet, his head lolling from side to side. Stinking drunken murderer… he was so drunk he merely blinked, bleary-eyed. Anakin gritted his teeth. He wasn't losing control; he wasn't. He would not unless provoked, not in front of his padawan. He could feel Ahsoka's eyes on him; could almost see her blink and wonder if she should step forward and intervene. Because Ahsoka was there, because Obi-Wan was there as well if merely through his teachings, he merely snarled, "Lucky for you the man you murdered would rather see you rot in jail."

"Now let's go, you coward, before I change my mind."


	5. Chapter 5

_Thanks to all of you who have read and reviewed...I'm still working on the latter part of the story, putting my own twist on things as usual. We're moving into some action, but you know me, character trumps action so the action is a bit truncated. _

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><p><strong>Chapter 5<strong>.

_Reputations rise and fall almost as regularly as the tides. ~~_ **Peter Benchley**

Obi-Wan had been in far worse places than prison: dingier, darker and infested with bugs. The company was another matter. What squalor was here was to be found in the thugs, murderers and assassins.

His processing was fast, efficient and dehumanizing. He was stripped, searched, and deloused before allowed to dress in the standard orange jail jumpsuit and herded directly to the mess hall - it was meal time - and indifferently thrown into the pack to fend for himself. Everything seemed orderly enough, the inmates indifferently lined up with no jostling for position: a good indication the food was not worth the effort. Sure enough, the glop dispensed from a rank of machines ranked roughly on a par with the field rations he had grown so familiar with in the last few months, in other words, unappealing and unappetizing while probably exceedingly nutritious.

Ignoring the stares and finger pointing, the whispers of "it's Kenobi's killer," he found a seat apart from the others, speared a forkful of food and promptly choked on it. That vocal emulator was going to be a bit of a problem, not to mention that the food was even more atrocious than he had predicted.

Out of the corner of his eye, Obi-Wan saw a Karkarodon heading his way, another inmate tagging along, most likely some hanger-on, who had apparently decided to take on the role of challenger. Rako Hardeen was going to prove up or be shown up. Well, there was nothing like a nice little confrontation to cement Hardeen's reputation.

Obi-Wan feigned total indifference as the Karkarodon leaned over him, dwarfing the seated man, in an obvious attempt to intimidate. He splayed his hands on the table, beady eyes alight with malice. Clearly playing to the room, his next words were addressed directly to "Rako," although Obi-Wan placidly ignored him. "That's him, that's the Jedi killer. He doesn't look so tough." He brazenly swiped a glass off the tray and downed the contents, affixing "Rako" with an unblinking stare. "You don't look so tough to me." He punctuated his insult with a poke to Obi-Wan's chest.

Seemingly oblivious to the taunt, Hardeen muttered, "This food tastes horrible," and simultaneously stabbed his fork down, pinning the Karkarodon's hand to the table. Indifferent to the ensuing bellow of pain and anger, Obi-Wan grabbed an ear and yanked the Karkarodon's head close to his mouth as his eyes barely slipped sideways in quiet speculation. "Maybe you'd taste better."

"Hey, what's going on down there?" one of the clone guards called down from an elevated walkway.

"Sorry, just playin' with my food," Rako released the ear and waggled his fingers in apology to the guard as his two uninvited "guests" scrambled away in haste.

Supremely indifferent to the injured Karkarodon, Rako sipped from his cup. From a corner of his eye, he could see Moralo Eval studying him for a moment before the Phindian lumbered over and rested an arm on the table across from him.

"Rako Hardeen; your reputation precedes you. I'm curious, when you killed that Jedi - was it for money or revenge?"

"I don't know," Rako shrugged his shoulders. "Guess I was bored."

Eval chuckled. "I'll be seeing you, Mr. Harden," and with that left the Jedi killer to his meal.

Things seemed to be moving well, too well, perhaps. Obi-Wan's senses prickled with foreboding. Nothing went this smoothly; this quickly. After mealtime he had been escorted to what was to be his new cell: his cellmate Moralo Eval himself.

What a "coincidence." Or not, as Eval smugly explained, not a coincidence but a set up, a result of his "great influence here." Obi-Wan mentally filed that under corruption, something to check into at a later date. In response to his question "what do you want from me?" Eval informed him that for a man like him there was "bigger game than Jedi, if you've got the guts – a brilliant plan and it involves the Chancellor." Before Eval could divulge any additional information, a cough from the top bunk interrupted.

"Breaking this goon out along with us will cost you: double my rates." Obi-Wan's eyes narrowed as Cad Bane swung his legs over the bunk and stared at him. This definitely put a new spin on things. Bane stared back coldly as Eval introduced the two.

"Who you calling a goon?" Obi-Wan demanded.

"Any imbecile can kill a Jedi with a lousy sniper blast. You want my respect, you do it face to face."

"Who says I want your respect?" Obi-Wan shot back.

"Make that triple my rate."

Eval merely chuckled and went on about the cell being too small for the three of them, forgetting what he heard, how he would have Hardeen "slaughtered" if he spoke of any of this. Obi-Wan was only half-listening; his mind far busier with the implications as Eval escorted him – like some minor government functionary subtly enforcing his rank to those he deemed his inferiors – back to the cell entrance where the guards waited.

Eval and Bane, in cahoots. This most definitely was not something anyone had anticipated.

"Rako's" previous "stunt" with the Karkarodon meant he had established his position fairly high up in the inmate hierarchy: to run off the two inmates in his way, all Obi-Wan had to do was to stroll up and clear his throat, and just like that, the weight machine was all his as the two inmates merely scowled and scattered like fowl stalked by a fe'ox. Obi-Wan smiled to himself and sat down. Stretching to one side then the other, reaching forward and back, he snagged the comlink planted under the bench.

The secure link connected immediately to the Temple. "This is Ben," he quietly intoned. The secure link connected immediately to the Temple. Mace and Yoda gazed at him, quiet and expectant as he filled them in, although a part of him focused on his surroundings, ready to catch the slightest hint of interest in him.

"We've got a problem. Eval almost divulged the plot, but Cad Bane stopped him."

"Cade Bane? We had no intel he was in with Eval on this," Mace was surprised enough to actually show it.

"It appears Eval hired Bane to break him out of prison."

"Foolish we were to believe Bane's capture was without purpose." Yoda nodded, leaning on his stick as his mind quickly calculated probabilities.

"The prison break is imminent," Obi-Wan warned, outlining his plans to stick tight to Eval and Bane. Mace and Yoda exchanged looks of deep concern, an echo of which Obi-Wan felt as well although he kept it concealed. A reasonably simple in/out was one thing, requiring only the simplest of briefings. Deception in prolonged proximity was something entirely different; especially when Obi-Wan was already suspicious that there was some history unknown to him between Hardeen and Bane.

For a moment Obi-Wan wondered if he would be extracted from prison, but after a scant moment of silence, Mace merely warned him to be careful and not blow his cover; a vote of confidence and an expression of deep worry all at once.

And it was at the next meal time the plan was initiated.

It made sense for only at this time did the inmates mingle. The clatter of trays, the buzz of conversation, and the jostling of beings largely cooped up all day all combined to distract the sentry guards, subtly so. To an experienced and undercover Jedi, such moments only heightened awareness and prompted discrete probes into the Force.

At first there was nothing, then a stirring…

Obi-Wan outwardly relaxed, his muscles subtly stiffened as the Force tensed around him, its currents eddying with purpose._ Now…now._

Ever patient, waiting for events to take their own course as they would, he ignored the approaching Boba Fett while fully aware this was likely the opening salvo in what was certain to be – a decidedly interesting situation - and unfortunately, one in which it went without saying that by its end there would almost certainly be dead and dying.

It was not something he looked forward to; it was not something he was in a position to avert. It was something he could mourn, now, in these few final seconds.

All truculent resentment, Boba poked a finger at Obi-Wan's face. "You stole a bounty from me; I want an apology."

Hardeen wouldn't apologize. "Back off, kid," Obi-Wan growled.

"You don't even remember me," Boba accused, and smashed the Jedi's tray right out of his hand.

"You don't want to do this," Obi-Wan warned evenly.

Boba hesitated, but with an encouraging nod of the head from Bane seated a few tables away, and emboldened by the cries for Hardeen to "kill him like you killed the Jedi," he shouted, "yes, I do," and jumped Obi-Wan, knocking him back against the table. It was the only blow he would strike, the only one the Jedi would allow. Hardeen probably wouldn't have allowed even one. Boba swung, Obi-Wan dodged, and once more again before he calculated it was time to end the budding fight; before he ruined the reputation he had nurtured of "don't mess with me."

Grabbing Boba's wrist he wrenched it behind the young man's back, locking the young bounty hunter into a strong choke hold, proof that Rako Hardeen couldn't be bullied. He hoped it also established that he was not quick to jump into a fight but once in one, he was quick to end it.

He couldn't afford another misstep with Bane.

His only regret was the blood certain to be shed in the coming fight, some of which might well be on his hands by virtue of his participation in the forthcoming jail break. He could no longer hope it would be a quiet escape by night; it would be escape by riot. Obi-Wan could not kill innocents to maintain his cover, but if he had successfully established himself as someone who only killed when paid to do so, he might yet find a way to maintain his honor and integrity as a Jedi without compromising his assumed persona.

That, at least, was his hope.

And that was exactly when all hope evaporated for that was when all hell broke loose. A bounty hunter he knew only by reputation and sight, Bossk, had apparently anointed himself Boba's protector and jumped Obi-Wan from behind. The attack broke Obi-Wan's hold on Boba. Wrapped in the Trandoshan's huge hands, he was unceremoniously picked up and tossed the length of a table like a flagon of beer at a bar. He landed with an undignified thud as the attendant guards belatedly snapped to attention, calling for order.

Sprawled on his back, he feigned having had the breath knocked out of him to allow him to observe, a brief moment amidst mayhem. He had to be careful in what manner he insinuated himself into alliance with Eval and a mistrustful Bane.

All around guards were stunning prisoners; prisoners stunning guards with weapons ripped from fallen guards. Not all blasters remained set on stun.

The Force was awash in turbulent waves of triumph and despair as chaos raged like a storm unleashing all its fury onto a sea, the only oasis of calm Bane and Eval, aloof from the mayhem surrounding them. They sat seemingly indifferent amidst the cacophony of blaring alarms, blaster shots, and hoarse yells.

More guards rushed in; inmates shouldered past them. Finally, Bane nudged Eval, amidst the wave of fleeing prisoners they were but two of many, a seething mass overwhelming the reinforcements. On a two count, Obi-Wan sprang to his feet and trailed the pair, easily keeping track through the Force. Their path was purposeful – Bane knew exactly where he was headed.

In time, Obi-Wan knew as well; the morgue, with its distinctive residue of recent death.

He slipped from one corridor into another to see Bane fiddling with a recalcitrant entry pad; his sharp ears heard the mutter about changed codes.

Ignoring Bane's growl, Obi-Wan strode up and pulled the electronics out with a sharp, "I can bypass the lock; keep a look-out." As soon as Bane and Eval reluctantly obeyed, he keyed the door open with a judicious application of the Force. "We're in," he hissed. So, too, was he, for the moment at least, for there was no time for Bane to argue with him. Footsteps were approaching. Arguing was only postponed as Bane nodded curtly and the three slipped into the capsules that carried the dead to the cremation chamber.

This was going to be a quick trip to oblivion, or escape. Obi-Wan mentally shrugged, trying to ignore the dead Rhodian he was squeezed next to. They would have a very small window of opportunity to escape the caskets before certain incineration, but as Bane smugly advised, he had escaped via this means once before. Prison security must not have caught on for the Force was quiet, no warnings tickling at him.

Muffled voices preceded the upending of the casket and a smooth drop. Sweat stung at Obi-Wan's eyes; there was no room to disentangle himself from the Rhodian, whose snout was pushed against his throat. One – two – he mentally counted the seconds – three – a thud and the casket's realigning itself to horizontal announced the next stage of the journey – and their exit?

More muffled words – "life signs" – a blaster shot and Obi-Wan flipped open the lid. Bane and Eval had already grabbed blasters from the startled security guards. Half of them were already down. Bane and Eval took out another two as Obi-Wan ducked under the rush of a third and flipped him over his shoulder. The man went down hard yet half-rose as Obi-Wan snatched the blaster that had fallen from his hand.

_Why didn't you stay down!_ Obi-Wan stepped back and drew careful aim – but he couldn't do it, couldn't shoot the man at such close range because if he did he had to kill him. He couldn't merely wing him, not when he was "the marksman of Concord Dawn." Kill the man, or don't shoot the man. Be Rako Hardeen or Obi-Wan Kenobi.

His internal dilemma was solved when Bane coolly shot the guard without hesitation.

"My blaster jammed!" But it was a lame excuse; he knew that. He just hoped Bane didn't, but the look in the bounty hunter's eyes was suspicious and calculating. Still, the Duros said nothing as he led the way out of the room and towards the landing platforms, blasting all opposition.

How many were dead, how many injured? The Force was turgid, shuddering, and would not reveal the toll to one Jedi, one man sworn to protect others and yet one who walked without protest through this slaughter.

Yet every man felled was a man filed away for later reflection and private regret. Sometimes _the greater good_ was so hollow, an excuse or a salve for the conscience. If there were another way, any other way… but the Force was not merciful and Republic guards died this day for the Republic. Their sacrifice was not in vain; these men gave their lives so that the Jedi could foil a plot against the Chancellor.

There was no other way.

But the haunting fear was carried within the Jedi that there had to have been an alternative, another way. The only one he knew, however, was for Palpatine to have canceled his trip. What was a ceremony balanced against lives? However, such thoughts in the middle of a mission were unbecoming and a dangerous distraction. What was done was done.

He had a job to do.

So Obi-Wan ran with Bane and Eval, jumped into the nearest skimmer with them, stayed with them as they docked at another landing platform and stole a ship right out from under the unsuspecting owner's nose. The last one to board, Obi-Wan ran right into Bane's fist, a solid punch to the face.

"That was for hesitatin' during the escape."

"If it wasn't for me, we'd never have escaped," Obi-Wan growled, after carefully wiggling his jaw.

"Yeah, funny how that worked out," Bane drawled.

And that's when Obi-Wan's bad feeling returned with a vengeance.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6.**

"_**If you obey all the rules, you miss all the fun" ~~ Katharine Hepburn**_

Nal Hutta, only one of several hives of scum and villainy in the galaxy; it was an oasis for the seedy and disreputable, not a lovely place to visit but a lovely place to leave behind. Obi-Wan had a passing familiarity with the place and wished to keep it that way, a brief stopover out of necessity for a new ship, new clothes, and new weapons.

Oh, and a new hat for Cade Bane. The Duros had made it quite clear he considered that a necessity, too, ranking right up there with his payment for services rendered.

Moralo Eval just wanted a fast ship and a quick trip to Serenno.

Obi-Wan just wanted to get the goods and get on with the mission, but he was willing to let the Force decree how and when. He had no desire to rush headlong into potential disaster by forcing events to move at a pace other than its own. His padawan might be able to twist the Force and thwart catastrophe into success by sheer brilliance and an unmatched Force connection, but Obi-Wan knew such was beyond both his capabilities and his desires. He was content to serve the Force, not command it.

A Hutt-run planet was an unregulated marketplace for goods and few questions; a place where everything and anything was available for a price. It was also a place where anything and anyone could be discarded or sold.

Obi-Wan had no plans to be one of the latter. He might be the unwanted and uninvited interloper but he was going the shake the sand of Nal Hutta off his boots when the other two did.

Though it seemed the Force might have other ideas about that from the message it was sending.

* * *

><p>"And we've had no contact with Obi-Wan in how long?"<p>

Since the question was rhetorical, no one bothered to answer. Since before the prison break, since one of the – if not "the" – instigators of the plot to kill the Chancellor escaped jail, since the carefully planned undercover mission went sideways and had so far totally swallowed one of their one. Not one of the Jedi in the Jedi Council chambers would deny the atmosphere was strained and had been since the prison break that Obi-Wan had warned them was imminent was now a done deal – and all contact with him had been severed. There had been no hint of contact – and time enough had passed to make that worrisome.

"Uneasy am I; Obi-Wan was supposed to get the information and get out, not participate in a prison riot and escape," Yoda murmured.

"We have no direct reports that he actually killed anyone," Ki-Adi Mundi said, his tone meant to be reassuring. There was no doubt the Council had been dismayed to learn of the violence that had accompanied the escape; somehow, though not one of them had voiced the thought, they had thought the escape would be clandestine and without incidence.

That they were wrong had shaken them badly.

"And we have no reports he did not, as well," came a whispered breath, a thought that reverberated almost below hearing. It did not escape anyone's attention that Yoda's ears had raised and tipped forward, a sign of displeasure.

"When we assigned the mission we accepted the possibility that Obi-Wan might have to – circumvent – the code to preserve his cover," Plo Koon pointed out hurriedly.

Yoda sighed and rubbed a hand over the sparse hair on his head. The Council's concern was not his, not the one at least that most concerned him. Obi-Wan would do his duty, no matter what it cost him personally. The Force would stay his hand or not, not the dictates of the Council nor, he suspected, even the expedient need of the situation. But for Obi-Wan this simple yet dangerous mission, with its need to deceive so many already paining him, was now likely to tear open wounds as yet barely scabbed over.

"That is not what worries me for there is nothing we can do about that until Obi-Wan returns – and if counseling he needs to reconcile his actions with his duty, counseling he will receive. But sent he was to gather information and now the parameters have changed; now the responsibility of safeguarding the Chancellor's life lies now not on his information but on his actions. So soon after Zygerria," he shook his head dolefully, "have we asked too much from him? Sent him I would not had we known it would come to this."

"You're afraid he suffers from his time in slavery, Master Yoda?" Adi leaned forward, a look of surprise on her face. "He's a Jedi master, a member of this Council."

"Suffer from the effects of slavery all beings do, even Jedi masters," Yoda snapped back.

"I think, along with Yoda, that Obi-Wan has more or less released any effects of that time into the Force," Mace interjected smoothly, only a faint hint of troubled agreement visible behind his eyes, "but as we all know, release is not some immediate reset button. Obi-Wan was forced to passivity, to non-intervention, knowing full well that any action on his part to mitigate the suffering of others only increased their suffering. Now he has participated in a prison break in which guards and inmates were killed. Non-intervention was not a real option, most likely, and intervention both upholds and violates the Code. Our tacit endorsement of 'by whatever means necessary' will put undue stress on Obi-Wan in this unforeseen situation."

The Council was silent for a moment.

"We had no other choice." Ki-Adi-Mundi finally reminded them. "Hardeen was the only one we could get on short notice, a bounty hunter with a bit of reputation yet shy of the big leagues; only Obi-Wan matched Hardeen as both human and male, and only the death of a Jedi of Obi-Wan's caliber would allow Hardeen the street cred that Obi-Wan needed to get to Eval quickly. You may not have liked it, Yoda, but you know we would have made the same decision even knowing what we do now."

"Trust Obi-Wan to do what he must, I do," Yoda conceded. "But even a Jedi's shoulders can only bear so much."

* * *

><p>"I hate persistent bad feelings," Obi-Wan muttered under his breath. Usually the crisis came and the crisis passed, but this was turning into an escalating series of crises. The only "up" to the "down" was it didn't leave Obi-Wan much time to worry about Anakin. Truth be told, his former apprentice was his biggest worry – or would be, if he allowed himself to indulge in such a thing.<p>

He'd made a bad mistake in the prison and Bane was clearly suspicious of him. He was going to have to do things he ordinarily would not but he swore random murder was not one of them. He would have to be inventive and/or persuasive but all things were possible.

So was surviving another crash, like this one he was deliberately steering them into, all part of the plan. He had time for one last thought before impact:

Force, he really hated flying.

* * *

><p>"Masters, I am going after Rako Hardeen." Anakin stood before the Council, chin raised and eyes hard.<p>

"You will not," Yoda contradicted firmly. "In the proper frame of mind you are not. To another this duty has been given."

"You can't do that! Obi-Wan was _my_ master!"

"Think do you we know that not?" Yoda thumped his gimer stick. "Too close to him you were to pursue his killer. Honor you must Obi-Wan's memory, not his death, while others seek justice."

"It's my right and my duty."

"Obi-Wan's death has hit you hard and you are still dealing with it," Adi Gallia put in softly. "We are all dealing with it in our own ways. Obi-Wan did not take the time to grieve Qui-Gon; he himself admitted that was a mistake that affected his relationship with you, a mistake you would not wish you to repeat. Deal with your grief and your padawan as we deal with -."

"Obi-Wan's killer will pay for what he did," Anakin interrupted.

"Revenge is not the Jedi way, young Skywalker." Mace leaned forward, eyes glittering. "Tell me, just how were you planning to make Hardeen pay?" When Anakin didn't answer, merely clenched his fists, Mace sat back, shaking his head. "Permission is denied. You are not to go after Hardeen. You will leave his arrest to us. Count on it, Skywalker, _justice s_hall be done. May the Force be with you."

Fuming, Anakin turned and in a swirl of robes left the chamber. If the Council refused to help…

* * *

><p>Obi-Wan had started out this mission dead. Simple enough, he had thought. Apparently dying was the simple part, living was much more – interesting. Definitely interesting. So far he had broken out of prison, helped steal a ship, and had crashed it as well.<p>

On purpose. He'd learned a lot from Anakin after all, mostly how to crash safely. His former padawan was as famous for his crashes as for his flying, though as far as Obi-Wan could remember, each and every one of Anakin's had been happenstance.

When the master learns from the padawan, the pairing is right…oh, right, Qui-Gon, so very right. Obi-Wan rolled his eyes and the ship.

Crash once: bad. Crash twice and twice in just one mission, on two different planets: worse, far worse. Obi-Wan would have thought any mission that started out with his death was bound to improve, not deteriorate.

Sure the first crash had been on purpose, a planned crash into a swamp on Nal Hutta, a way to ditch the ship stolen on Coruscant. A stop at Pablo's Pawnshop "if we ain't got it, we'll get it, don't ask how" to change from prison garb and to purchase a new ship came next on the agenda, but as it turned out, Rako Hardeen was not on Bane's agenda. The bounty hunter exercised his distrust and dislike by excising Hardeen from the trio with wrist (gas) and foot (kick to the chest) and knocked Obi-Wan off the mission and out of commission.

That had been the start of a lovely day on Nal Hutta, lying on his back incapacitated, eyes watering and blurring as it was good-bye Bane and Eval and hello to – well, Obi-Wan didn't remember a lot of what came next. What came next, as far as he remembered, was coming to, hanging upside down by his ankles while Hutt-hired thugs had continued what they had started just before his blackout – using him for a punching bag.

It really hadn't been fair: Bane had been the one to accost Pablo with a toothpick to the windpipe while he had been the one to do his best to apologize with a toss of a few credits for the trouble, all he could do while maintaining cover. Pablo and his woman didn't care; to them he was one of them, one of the bounty hunters on the run and men on the run were usually good for a reward if betrayed to the Hutts and their hirelings.

He'd played along: long enough to be "persuaded" to talk about his two companions – he rubbed a hand over still tender ribs – and revealed that he had planted a tracking device on the ship, all in exchange for his freedom. It was just in character to stab Bane in the back, he wouldn't be surprised if the gesture earned him a grudging respect when Bane discovered his duplicity. Soon as the thugs thinned out to pursue his erstwhile comrades after they were shot down, well, it wasn't hard for a Jedi to unlock his ankle binders and, er, smash his way to freedom.

A cough to gain the lone remaining guard's attention, a one-handed whack with the same force pike used against him to flatten the same, and Obi-Wan cheerfully walked away, not only finding a opportunity to relay a quick message to the Temple, but to find a cantina, a seat and a drink in that order, somewhere where he could relax, nurse both a drink and his bruises, and contemplate the moment.

When combined, contemplation had in actuality been like musing.

Like how it was entirely possible that perhaps more of Anakin than he realized had rubbed off on him; he could have tried to put the thug to sleep with a Force suggestion rather than a pike. Now there was a pleasant thought: the galaxy already had one Anakin Skywalker and an up-and-coming padawan to deal with. He was supposed to be the cool voice of reason, of moderation, the so-oft needed one to balance the other.

On the other hand…he took another sip, dodged a thrown drink and a flying patron – frowned; could be the company he was keeping, instead.

He swirled his drink and decided to follow his old master's advice: live in the moment; after all, quiet moments never lasted long and came even more rarely, so he slouched in his seat, tipped his chair against the sun warmed wall behind him and let the usual babble of an open air cantina warble around him. In time, the moment ended with the return of two thoroughly unhappy bounty hunters, neither of which had been pleased to see him, he was quite sure.

With a glint in his eye and a mischievous curve on his lips, he'd lifted his drink in welcome.

Oh, yes, indeed, Bane had been miffed, charging up the steps and hurtling him against the wall. He could easily have broken the choke hold, but mindful of his recent aggressions, Obi-Wan chose to negotiate his way into Bane's good graces with some good old verbal jousting.

Honor amongst thieves, perhaps. Amongst bounty bunters, the bonding ritual consisted of backstabbing and betrayal.

* * *

><p>It was almost impossible to keep his mouth shut, sitting off to the side of the Chancellor's desk, party to the conversation Palpatine held with the Council. Anakin was honored that he was respected enough to be allowed to remain, but then Palpatine had always trusted him. The Council never had.<p>

Only Obi-Wan had.

Out of holotransmitter range, the young Knight stared in utter and total disbelief as the Council informed Palpatine they had removed the bounty on Hardeen and his fellow escapees. Justify it all they wished – ohhh, they thought their reasoning was so sound – but they were literally letting a killer get away with murder – Obi-Wan's murder.

"I'm sorry, Anakin." The Chancellor swiveled to face him, equally as bemused and just as disbelieving that the Council thought this the wisest course.

"How can they expect me to just sit here and do nothing?" Anakin popped up, fuming, no longer able to restrain himself.

"Anakin, perhaps they don't _trust_ you to control your feelings."

"Hardeen killed my master. My. Best. Friend. He's escaped with Cad Bane and Eval and the Jedi Council won't do anything about it."

With a deep look of sympathy for his young friend's distress, Palpatine offered, "I have it from a reliable source that the fugitives are heading for Nal Hutta. If you believe you can stop this plot against me, I trust you." Their eyes locked; sympathy in one and gratitude in the other. Anakin breathed deep. The Chancellor had never doubted him. Palpatine understood what the Council never could: that people mattered. That Obi-Wan mattered, both in life and in death. That it mattered that Obi-Wan's killer had escaped.

That Anakin could not rest until Hardeen was run down and made to pay.

Nal Hutta. Anakin was already calculating the best way to get there.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7.**

* * *

><p><em>Nowadays men lead lives of noisy desperation.<em>_**James Thurber**_

* * *

><p><em>Thud! <em>

The scrape of durasteel against durasteel was loud, annoying, and a sign of a desperate or highly skilled pilot. At these speeds, ramming a ship was almost a guarantee that both ships would wipe out. A crash was preferable to a smash which was why Obi-Wan was figuring on crash number two as an inevitability.

Of course, having just fueled up here on Orondia – of course they'd been sold out on Nal Hutta – there was quite the possibility of going up in flames as well as smashing into tiny pieces. _Crush us, grind us into tiny pieces and blast us into oblivion- _he'd said that years ago on Naboo and it seemed to fit this situation just as well now as then.

Maybe better.

The ship slammed into them once more and then passed overhead, a red-striped ship. "Jedi," Bane spat as the ship dove down, trying to cut them off or force them to spin out of control from his engine wash. _Anakin,_ Obi-Wan realized: not the Hutts, not thugs, but Anakin. Blast it! If he could have spared a hand he would have slapped the console in dismay. Hadn't Yoda or Mace _told_ Anakin – they had promised. He swung the ship up and side-slipped, knowing full well that he was no match for Anakin, not in the cockpit.

_Thwack!_

Somehow, impossibly, Obi-Wan kept the ship aloft as Anakin slammed into them again and again, trying to force him down. He needed to gain altitude, get out of the planet's gravity well and escape into hyperspace – but Anakin was too smart to allow him maneuvering room. _This is why I hate flying – everyone wants to knock me out of the sky._

And then, impossibly, he blinked as Anakin landed on the ship's hull. _Oh, this is not good_. For one thing that meant either Ahsoka or Artoo was flying Anakin's ship and neither were as skilled as Anakin; for another, that meant that a thoroughly _upset_ Anakin was about to slash his way inside to confront them.

* * *

><p>Just what Obi-Wan didn't want!<p>

Mace Windu's eyes narrowed as Clone Captain Rex stolidly and unequivocally informed the Jedi master he could not say where General Skywalker was. "Can't, or won't?" Lesser men would have quailed before that glare.

Before Rex could answer, Chancellor Palpatine stepped out of his office and into holotransmitter range. "Anakin is on Nal Hutta. Protecting me is only postponing trouble, not solving it."

"With all due respect, Chancellor, the Jedi have a plan in place."

"So does Moralo Eval and he seems to be several steps ahead of you," Palpatine retorted. "For that reason I asked Anakin to take action. He is confident he can find the fugitives and stop this plot against me. I suggest you have more faith in young Skywalker." He turned to Rex about escorting him home as the hologram faded out.

Mace was about as furious as a Jedi would ever be. He turned to Yoda. "This is exactly what Obi-Wan didn't want to happen. If I warn him it may blow his cover, get him killed."

"Hmm, kill Hardeen, Skywalker may, or die trying. Overdue the truth is, warn them both we must," Yoda decided.

But it was already too late: Skywalker was not answering his com.

* * *

><p>"I'll get him," Hardeen was half way out of his seat before Bane stopped him.<p>

"No. It's my turn to kill a Jedi."

Why, why did Anakin always have his own agenda, this need to jump to action before all the facts were in! How many strategies were blown to smithereens because Anakin charged forward, how many quiet sorties became pitched battles – now Obi-Wan had to find a way to escape his clutches _and_ keep Anakin alive.

It didn't matter if Yoda or Mace had been unable to clue Anakin in; it didn't matter if Anakin had taken off after Hardeen without giving them a chance to explain.

It mattered that Anakin was in danger, unraveling his cover was in danger, and that the Chancellor would still be in danger. Once more Obi-Wan had to fix whatever wouldn't have been broken if Anakin hadn't been in the middle trying to fix what wasn't broken!

Anxious moments went by as he focused half on flying, half on what was happening out of sight. It was almost a relief when first Bane, than Anakin dropped onto the forward hull before his eyes. The two men flailed for balance as Obi-Wan soared upwards and banked to the side. Anakin was capable of extraordinary things, but to go flying off a ship onto the rocky ground beneath was probably a stretch even for him.

And then it was out of his control; soaring over a rocky arch there was a solid thump as Ahsoka slammed into him, unable to react as quickly to the obstacle and her ship practically rode him piggyback until falling off to the side. Obi-Wan fought to keep the ship level as both ships spun out of control from the collision: fought to slow his speed and drop lower to the ground to give the two men a fighting chance to survive when inevitably they fell.

He fought to make a controlled crash rather than a smear across the rock, but, who was Obi-Wan kidding – it was going to be a crash. To argue otherwise was only semantics. He was crashing a ship.

For the second blasted time that day.

When everything stopped spinning except a few stars in his own personal universe – his skull – Obi-Wan remembered his last sight was of Anakin and Bane being thrown off and falling, falling to the ground; rolling, twisting, tumbling.

"Anakin!" he breathed, and let his fear and worry carry him to the ship's hatch, carry him in a graceful jump to the unforgiving ground – and let it halt him to heed the Force's warning to pull his blaster and move slowly, forsaking haste for prudence. If Anakin were not dead or dying - if Anakin were by a miracle alive and unhurt, he would be one very unhappy Jedi and as such would be only too quick to act before thinking. For Anakin's sake Obi-Wan needed to be cautious though every nerve screamed at him to find his former padawan and assure himself that he still lived.

His caution was warranted; his caution not enough to keep him from being bowled to the ground as an extremely irate Anakin tackled him from out of the dust and smoke. His momentum carried him a few feet away from Obi-Wan.

"You're going to pay for what you did," Anakin growled, lunging forward.

"You shouldn't have gotten involved." He grunted as Anakin planted a knee between his legs, falling back against a rock wall as Anakin snatched his lightsaber, ignited it and raised it over his head with a hissed, "This is for Obi-Wan."

Drawn by the noise, Bane appeared above him as Obi-Wan sank back, somehow sensing that Bane was not going to shoot Anakin and he would not have to interfere or blow his cover. Ensnared in Bane's fibercords and drawn away from Obi-Wan, Bane threw over his shoulder, "You can thank me later, Hardeen." Igniting his ankle rockets, he dragged Anakin some meters and continued, "You had your chance to kill him, now it's my turn."

Even wrapped up, Anakin was more than capable of meeting the challenge. He flipped over and planted his feet in Bane's midsection, uncoiled and called his lightsaber to his hand, easily deflecting Bane's blaster shots. Closing in on the bounty hunter, Anakin knocked the blasters out of Bane's hands, which is when Obi-Wan decided to intervene. He slid past Anakin's guard and sprang, sending them both flying to the ground.

Timing his move, Obi-Wan locked his arms around Anakin's wrists and slid around and under his sword arm and flipped his former padawan over his back. The breath knocked out of him, Obi-Wan crouched over him and – with Bane watching, it had to be real – pummeled Anakin, over and over, blow after blow, protesting inside all the while that this was necessary, that Anakin had to be subdued to survive, that his goal was to knock Anakin so out of it that he and Bane could find Eval and blast off of Orondia, but Anakin was grunting with each blow, grunting at what Obi-Wan was doing to him…

…and Anakin grabbed his arm and flipped Obi-Wan off to the side. As the two closed once more, Obi-Wan ducked under and away from a roundhouse swing, putting him in a perfect position to get behind Anakin and capture him in a neck lock. Putting pressure on Anakin's throat, Obi-Wan whispered into Anakin's ear, infusing his voice with every ounce of Force persuasion he could summon, "Anakin. Don't. Follow Me."

Anakin's eyes rolled up into his head and he collapsed onto his side as Obi-Wan pushed himself to his feet. He had never in his entire life beaten another being like that; he had pulled his punches as much as he dared, but dear Force, it was Anakin he had fought. Anakin he had beaten. That he had done it to save Anakin was no consolation.

He'd been wrong, in those early hours in prison. Being "bad" was not enjoyable; it sickened him.

Turning to trudge back to the ship and check it over, he saw Bane pull his blaster and aim it at Anakin. Before a word could leave Obi-Wan's mouth a small figure leapt over both their heads and crouched over the fallen Jedi. Ahsoka, lightsabers flashing, was there to defend her master.

Stalemate. Obi-Wan almost grinned; he did, inside. He knew Anakin was safe now; his cover was safe as well.

And when Eval showed up to announce the ship was fixed and they could finally leave Orondia, Obi-Wan could only feel relief.

"You're lucky we're in a hurry, lil' lady. We'll have to dance another time." With a tip of his hat, Bane turned to the ship, with Obi-Wan behind. It was time to leave Orondia behind; Anakin as well.

Alive.

Thank the Force, Anakin was still alive.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**.

_One trouble with trouble is that is usually starts out like fun" ~~ _

This was going to be a much _happier_ landing – no hurtling nose first into a swamp, no splat onto an unforgiving rock mesa. Obi-Wan could almost be dancing with delight – his version, of course, an upturned corner of his lips and a spark in his eyes – but what might otherwise be an ebullient mood was dampened by the knowledge that this was Serenno and that Count Dooku awaited.

Fooling Bane and Eval was one thing. Fooling Dooku was another.

With a quiet indrawn breath to center himself and a quick check that his shielded Force presence was well muted, he followed his two companions in crime down the ship's ramp and up to the imposing presence of Count Dooku. Of course introductions were first in order.

So civilized, of course. One might be deeply involved in a plot to assassinate the Chancellor, but manners were not to be ignored. Courtesy before mayhem.

As it turned out, it was courtesy before challenge. Moralo Eval, revealed to be the architect - or perhaps evil mastermind, that remained to be seen – of "The Box." This collection of notorious bounty hunters – amongst them Sixtat, "the Outlands Butcher;" Derrown, "the Exterminator;" Embo, he of a hat that dwarfed even Bane's, those being ones he knew of or had butted heads with in the past – and others new to him. Both genders and multiple species were represented: Weequay, Rhodian, Snivvian, Selketh, and Ithorian to name just a few. Some were known for brutality; some for athletic skill.

All twelve were asked to compete in an elimination-by-death tourney for the right to participate in Dooku's just now revealed plot – and not one demurred; greed overcame prudence.

Deadly company indeed: each and every one of them willing to risk elimination for someone else's political goal of bringing "the Republic to its knees."

For an instant a thought tickled at Obi-Wan: challenge Dooku here and now to a fight, but he dismissed it almost as instantly. He could not trust that it would be a man against man fight; bounty hunters were loyal to reward only and would not hesitate to move against him even if Dooku accepted his challenge, for between the two of them, only Dooku could reward handsomely. And should he lose…the plot would go forward without him.

For now he would have to play along.

It was nothing short of obscene to a Jedi, risking so much for such a paltry reward as credits.

True, Obi-Wan sought a reward of his own; he wasn't all that much different from these bounty hunters, but that difference was an important one, one of selflessness versus selfishness. He risked his life to save that of others; he risked his relationship with his former padawan as well. He had known that when he had insisted on keeping the truth from Anakin, even if just initially.

Deception had consequences.

Not just to others, either, he suddenly realized as a shiver tingled along his spine, but to the deceiver, the pretender to an amoral character. What did it say about him that he had entertained, however briefly, the thought of inciting another living being into a battle with the hope of defeating, perhaps even killing, that one? Passive aggression was still aggression.

A Jedi uses the Force for knowledge and defense never for attack.

This ruse, this very war, he now saw –could _feel _- was dissolving the moral fiber of the Jedi under the acid demand of necessity, of fighting and killing to preserve peace.

_Force help us all_. And he had never meant it more. After the war, after the killing, when it was time to rebuild and recover, Obi-Wan swore by everything he believed in that the Order would rededicate itself not to _necessity_, but to the Force and to the Force only.

But not now – now he had to be Rako Hardeen so that Obi-Wan Kenobi could save the Chancellor, fight for the right to kill in order to fight for the preservation of life.

And so, as one of the eleven remaining bounty hunters – for already, much to Obi-Wan's disgust, Bane had casually shot one for his hat, for a mere _possession_ – he stepped forward as part of this group.

And so they entered "The Box" with not a qualm, not even a hint of disquiet in the Force from even one of them, although they knew full that some would not emerge; at least, not alive.

* * *

><p>"Obi-Wan is alive." At first those words had been full of wonder, full of relief. <em>Obi-Wan is alive<em>. Staring up at the face of his padawan, groggy from the fight he had _lost,_ dazed and confused, Anakin was nonetheless not confused about one thing.

Obi-Wan was alive.

But how…why? "Ohh," he groaned, sitting up with Ahsoka's help. He buried his face in his hands, trying ease the spinning vertigo. "Thanks, Snips."

"Chalk another save to the padawan," she replied cheekily, but he could see concern in her eyes. Awareness, too, that had she had arrived seconds later, Anakin might now be dead, might not be here to _be_ cheeky with.

"I'm okay, really, just a bit dizzy." Reaching out, Anakin touched her arm. "This is a good dizzy, Snips. Obi-Wan is alive; I'm not sure how or why – but he's alive."

Ahsoka stared wide-eyed at him, no doubt mentally double-checking her comprehension of his words. "But – but, his funeral? I was there – we were there." She slid to her knees, shaking her head. "I held his body in my arms, Master."

She was shaking, her voice quivering. So was Anakin, on the inside, so he understood how she felt and all that she was feeling: disbelief, happiness, and in time, anger which had not yet had time to flare.

"And I carried him to the repulsor stretcher." He nodded. Oh, he remembered all right, no matter how numb he had been. That had been before the grief and before the anger, at what was gone and what had been taken from him. He had carried the body of his former master, needing to hold onto him, to not let go. To carry him long enough to burn his face into memory so it could not fade, to be pulled out in time of need.

Obi-Wan was gone from his life, but by the Force, he was not going to be torn from his heart.

And now – somehow – he had been restored and by every one of the seven Corellian hells, he was going to know why.

"We'll find out the truth, if we have to dangle each and every councilman from the top of the spire in gale force winds, okay, Snips?"

"Or stuff them in a ship's fresher while you practice acrobatics?"

"Yeah." Anakin brushed a finger under one of Ahsoka's eyes, wiped away the tear for a man who had had no compassion for what he had put them through. _No, no, Obi-Wan has compassion, he just doesn't let it interfere with what he thinks is his duty. He did whatever he did despite his compassion for those of us he hurt – but Obi-Wan, you are going to have a lot to answer for. _"Yeah, they'll all turn as green as Master Yoda…"

"And Master Yoda?" Ahsoka managed an evil grin.

"Oh, I'm sure I can be pretty inventive if I put my mind to it. Now let's go assess the ship and see if we can get off this rock."

Leaning on Ahsoka, the two Jedi made their way to their ship – home to Coruscant where they might perhaps find answers. Peace of mind was less certain.


	9. Chapter 9

Thanks to those reading; especially those commenting.

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><p><strong>Chapter 9.<strong>

_Imagination is the voice of daring. If there is anything Godlike about God it is that. He dared to imagine everything.__**Henry Miller**_

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><p>Obi-Wan was not a fanciful man; no Jedi would ever so dare. Imaginative, perhaps, though even such was something not encouraged, leading so often to fears and anxieties that held no place in a Jedi's life. Like much in life, though, imagination could be useful if kept within one's control, a tool to discern the unexpected, to react as unforeseen and thus stupefy others with an unforeseen twist – it was not wisdom, not skill, not always the Force, that had given Obi-Wan the reputation of a brilliant strategist in this war but his ability to imagine the vast range of possibilities.<p>

Imagination, like "bad feelings," could be either a curse or a blessing if allowed to roam free and untended within the mind, so long mindful of his former master's discouragement of both in days now long gone, Obi-Wan tamped burgeoning imagination overlain with anticipation down to curiosity with the discipline that came with years of practice. Curiosity was a far more useful emotion in such a high stakes game as this.

Of course, the image of a "game" was the first thing whispered by his mind once they entered the box proper, whisked there by an elevated floor.

A box indeed, a bare and sterile cube traced by faint lines in a grid pattern, their purpose as yet unclear. It looked like a hologame opening logo on steroids of some kind, a game into which they had stepped as holographic participants. A box, but looks could so often be deceiving. That had been one of the first lessons drilled into him, years before he became Qui-Gon's padawan

He was not the only wary one; eyes and eyestalks studied the surroundings as limbs relaxed in preparation and anticipation. _Relax, then tense_ – that was one clue to imminent action he learned as a very young padawan. Beings always telegraphed their moves, no matter how well camouflaged they might appear to a casual eye.

One of the large walls flickered and the face of Moralo Eval appeared, dwarfing the bounty hunters beneath.

"Before we begin our first challenge, you need to know there is only one rule inside the box: there are no rules. The point is to escape and quickly; only the survivors move on to the next round." Upon those words, one of the outlined grids, some meters square, retracted. No one moved, no one except Sinrich who stood upon that very spot. Nerves and muscles tensed – waiting, waiting.

A hiss broke the tense silence; the hiss of escaping gas, green tendrils of droplets curling and swirling upwards as bounty hunters scattered sideways.

"Dioxsis."

It was the same gas meant to kill Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan aboard the Trade Federation ship above Naboo so many years before. It hadn't killed him then and Obi-Wan wasn't going to allow it to kill him now.

A clatter and a rumble preceded first one, then other grid sections lumbering upwards, columns lifting away from the gas. They offered salvation, escape away from the deadly poison to clearer air above. The bounty hunters leapt and jumped onto the blocks, some springing up and dislodging those already there, others were scrabbling to hold on as they dangled precariously by fingertips.

Salvation was on those blocks, safety was up and away.

Eight blocks for eleven sentients, eight chances for safety.

Survivors moved on to the next round. Eleven now, but only five would be allowed to live. Seven, or rather six, would die. Despite that, no bounty hunter was overtly eliminating competitors – well, Obi-Wan amended that, few were doing so, for out of the corner of his eye Obi-Wan saw Embo sail his very large and very deadly hat smack into someone's midsection, knocking him off his perch. The Snivvian, he decided, watching dispassionately as he expired from the poisonous gas.

Mourning for lives lost, no matter the significance of that life, always came after the battle for life or death was won.

While it was still each man for himself, still casualties because of the jostling to secure one's own place, there was as yet no free for all to eliminate others and secure one's own place, no stampede to follow Embo's example. No matter his youthful inclinations, life as a Jedi had long ago stripped Obi-Wan of any wide-eyed idealism and turned him into a reluctant cynic; his outlook on life was that of a realist: in time the bounty hunters would turn on each other. Only five would be chosen: any other survivors of the final round would be terminated as already stated by Dooku.

So it was that Obi-Wan was not surprised when, mere moments later, when the gas continued to spew outwards and up, it became every man for himself. Knees and elbows, fists and head butts flew. Those who claimed their spot early on the tops of the columns defended them against the assault of the slower, some retaining their position and some not. Most who plummeted from their perches were lucky to grab a handhold and cling to the columns

And before breaths could be stilled, pounding hearts slowed, it became clear that the eight blocks were not salvation.

The columns had risen above the gas, true, but they continued to rise, all at varying speeds but all aiming for the ceiling above, indifferent to those who had thought to find refuge upon them. Twazzi, the tall female noted for her acrobatics, was the first imperiled. Just before her column slammed into the ceiling, she jumped and twisted, clinging between two blocks.

There was no safety high, no safety in the columns themselves; that meant safety lay – "Down, the way we escape is down," Obi-Wan shouted through his helmet and gestured as well. "The filters in my helmet should allow me to scout the way out."

Obi-Wan dropped to the floor, took a deep breath and jumped into the opening from which gas still oozed – and landed below the gas line, absorbing the impact with his knees. Here, somewhere, there had to be an escape. He felt around for a button, a switch, and suddenly a panel slid aside revealing a tunnel. Lights switched on, a beacon in the dark.

"Jump down the hole in the floor and follow the tunnel," Obi-Wan called up. He took off as the bounty hunters dropped one by one in his path.

The tunnel led to another room, accessed from below; this time marked not by grid lines, but by a pattern of squares whose purpose would soon became clear. Obi-Wan gracefully hoisted himself up and onto his feet, turned, and leant over to offer a hand up to those following. Bane was first behind him, but Obi-Wan's offer was slapped away with a glare.

Apparently Bane still retained a bit of a grudge from Obi-Wan's "betrayal" of them on Nal Hutta, not that Obi-Wan blamed the Duros for being a bit miffed at being shot down. Personal experience of dodging blaster canon shots and missiles, of crashing made even a Jedi such as him unhappy. Bane, however, seemed to forget he was the reason Obi-Wan was left on Nal Hutta in a far from pleasant situation of his own; "betraying" Bane had been necessary to complete his mission and perfectly in character for his assumed persona.

This second challenge seemed at to be a twist on the first: rather than blocks protruding upwards randomly, this time around the blocks protruded horizontally. Predictably, the bounty hunters easily hopped back and forth, avoiding the blocks with relative ease.

Obi-Wan danced lightly on the balls of his feet, wary and expectant, every sense seeking the essence of what was to come.

It turned out to be a simulation of Jedi knights wielding lightsabers, awkward, slow, and ponderous, for energy bars stabbed from the ends, rotating and swiveling. A sudden choked cry attested that however slow, the energy bars were just as deadly as the real thing. Back up too far, get impaled – jump, duck, twist aside – all the while avoiding the block coming from the side, from the front, and from the rear.

Oh, no, these blocks were not as easy to avoid as it seemed for one had to dodge one's competitors as well. The dance floor was crowded and collisions inevitable.

Two had died already: Kiera Swan and Onca, each had misjudged and each had been impaled.

Grimly, Obi-Wan noticed and set it aside. So many had already died – too many: prison guards and inmates; now some of his fellow "competitors." Each death weighed heavily on him and yet none did, he let them go into the Force.

Now was not the time to think beyond his duty.

* * *

><p>Again Hardeen. Observing alongside Eval, Dooku's attention was drawn to this last minute addition. This bounty hunter stood out while simultaneously blending in. He had unobtrusively assumed leadership of this motley crew with a subtle gift of command that none of these notorious independent minded bounty hunters rebelled against, nor for that matter, even seemed to question.<p>

Hardeen, he was clearly a man who calmly assessed a situation and then acted decisively.

"Impressive, this Hardeen. I sense something different about that one, tell me more about him," he commanded, and watched as Eval pulled up his data file.

Eval had grudgingly admitted the man was competent, more so than Dooku expected from his dossier, with a strange mix of docility and uncommon ingenuity. This was not quite what an assassin from the shadows, a sniper from a distance should be like. An assassin for hire, a man displaying competence when one would expect he should be displaying bravado. Most interesting, most interesting, indeed.

"And he was in prison for assassinating who this time?" Dooku asked mildly.

"A Jedi named Obi-Wan Kenobi," Eval replied. "But only with a sniper rifle."

_Obi-Wan Kenobi! _

Dooku's eyes narrowed.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10.**

_While no one is expected to leap tall buildings in a single bound, our aspiring heroes will be tested on their courage, integrity, self-sacrifice, compassion and resourcefulness - the stuff of all true superheroes. ~~ Stan Lee_

"Still no word from Obi-Wan." Mace strode into the Council chamber and sat on the edge of his seat, studying Yoda. "Have you seen anything in the Force?

"Only trouble and pain."

Leaning forward, elbows resting on his knees and his hands clasped under his chin, Mace asked, carefully, almost afraid of the question or perhaps the answer, "Is he alive?"

"Hard to see that is. Triumph and outrage stain the Force, the source nebulous as if coming from multiple sources, clouded it makes the Force. Young Skywalker senses our deception, I feel, although sure I am not whether he senses the entire truth or just a part. The triumph is his, as is the pain, much pain. Wrong we were by not telling him the truth sooner."

"We tried, Yoda; we could not reach him."

"Try there is not!" Yoda snapped back; then sighed. "No choice we had, but bad timing this was. Shaking off the effects of his enslavement by the Zygerrians Obi-Wan still was; affected was young Anakin as well. No respite has either had in months; much we demand of them- much the Force demands of them."

"We _are_ servants of the Force."

"Remind me of that you do not need to. Bodies and minds we are as well; bodies and minds can only be stretched so far. Stretch a cord too far and what happens – it starts to fray, it wears out – eventually it will snap. We cannot afford to snap."

"And you think Obi-Wan is on the verge of snapping?"

"Mmm, stretching thin he is but nearer to snapping is young Skywalker. Wise this ruse was not." Yoda turned and faced Mace. "A mistake and yet, no other choice did we have."

Their conversation was broken off by the arrival of the other Council members; the lead topic was the Chancellor's preemptory assignment of Skywalker to pursue the escaped Hardeen, Bane, and Eval. Palpatine had single-handedly decided the Order's plans were a failure without once inquiring just what that plan was, and the consequences of his interference were unimaginable.

He may well have doomed one Jedi to die at the hand of a second.

Mace leaned back in his seat, eyes glittering. "The Chancellor should not have interfered; he quite likely has put Obi-Wan in peril by high-handedly sending Anakin after 'Hardeen.' If by chance Anakin has killed Obi-Wan – he will never forgive us. We cannot forgive ourselves."

"The Chancellor's doing it would be…but our own contribution we cannot overlook." Yoda looked down and absently traced a circle with his gimer stick. "Obi-Wan is alive, this I know but only because of young Anakin's triumph. Only pain would he feel if it were otherwise."

A slight hiss of relief escaped Mace's otherwise grim lips. "I've never seen Palpatine so high-handed before. We had this plan well underway to protect him from something he could easily protect himself from by just staying away from Naboo and he interferes, using one of us, using Skywalker, interfering with our plan without knowing anything about it. Doesn't the man know just how dangerous his interference is?"

He raised his hand to forestall whatever Yoda might have responded with. "Of course, he doesn't, he's a politician and they never think of consequences. I have to admit I am worried how this may end."

Just because fears are voiced, does not mean they are disarmed, as the Council would find out much later.

* * *

><p>Dodging and weaving with the others, only half his mind on what he was doing, Obi-Wan's attention was divided between the blocks and furious deduction.<p>

High above in the ceiling was a recess; it had to be an escape hatch. Last challenge, escape was found _down_, down below the deadly gas. That might well mean – yes, Obi-Wan considered and eliminated the possible for the probable – this time escape was _up_. It was a truism that most sentients tended to certain sameness in thought: opposition and parallelism the two bedrocks of design.

That tied in nicely with his observation that the blocks did not move in a random pattern. By timing one's move, one could race along one block, propel oneself forward and up to another, a veritable stairway leading directly below the recess.

Timing was the critical issue, for one would have to launch from a block only when it was in line with the next, but any reasonably athletic person could make it.

"I know how to get out; there's a pattern. Watch; if I can time it right, I can make it up to that escape hatch and you can follow. Get moving!" Obi-Wan shouted, easily leaping to the first block, then a second. He paused, waiting as the block he was on slowly retreated, waiting as the next one slowly advanced. Not yet, not yet – now! He leapt, landed, leapt again.

The others hesitated; the hesitation cost Onca his life as he was impaled from behind by the simulated lightsaber; the second death in this challenge for Kiera Swan already lay dead on the floor. Doubt and hesitation evaporated and the remaining bounty hunters followed, the Parwan using its tentacles to swing from block to block as necessary, the acrobatic Twazzi easily keeping pace as the others followed. Bane mistimed one jump and nearly plummeted to his death but his flailing hands found and latched on to the block.

_Dangling from the elevated walkway, his breath of relief lost in the thundering of his heart, Obi-Wan hung, helpless to aid Qui-Gon. His master battled on, alone. Wait for me, Master, wait…_

_With a heave, a quick snatch of his lightsaber with the Force, and a massive Force jump propelled by anxiety and a desperate need to be at his master's side where he belonged, where Qui-Gon might need him, Obi-Wan pounded down the walkway. But Qui-Gon battled on, his focus so intent on his tattooed foe that his padawan wondered if his absence was even noticed. _

With a grunt of release of_ that moment, _to live in_ this moment, _Obi-Wan's hand shot down to grab Bane's wrist. Much like Qui-Gon, Bane deigned his help; unlike Qui-Gon who merely rushed ahead, secure in his belief he did not need his apprentice, Bane glared and slapped his hand away, antagonism flaring though the Force, his lack of appreciation blatant and dismissive.

Fine. Obi-Wan turned away; face set – and deliberately relaxed, releasing his frustration in a puff of breath. Acting a part so alien to him was slowly invading his mind, not just his outward mannerisms.

He was not Rako Hardeen; he was Obi-Wan Kenobi, a Jedi, and he had best remember it.

So with Hardeen's easy swagger and Kenobi's calm confidence, Obi-Wan straightened, turned away from Bane and tipped his head upwards. He found what he expected, the way out and without hesitation, jumped. Hand over hand, he climbed upwards.

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><p>A hand smacked the console where Dooku and Eval watched the challenges play out matching the grimace on one less than pleased face.<p>

"Hardeen has done it again; I'm beginning to believe Hardeen is the best one to lead our operation," Dooku mused, finding himself impressed with the assassin's cool head and penchant for teamwork. "Impressive."

"Hardeen is crafty, I'll grant you, but let's see how he does when he is not the key to their survival."

Was that bitterness or – aha, a twinge of jealousy – within Eval. Dooku hid a smile behind a hand. Not all the competition was before their eyes, not all tests were tests of strength, physical or otherwise. Some were tests of character and loyalty. Not that Dooku particularly valued character nor did he trust loyalty. Character could be corrupted; loyalty was best bought with a combination of fear and reward, and yet, was so easily betrayed by the promise of other credits, other fears – and of simple, simple greed.

Even he, Sith Lord, was not immune but a Sith's greed was always harbored within, banked and invoked in service of the self. Greed was a weapon Dooku could twist and pervert to his own ends in others. Eval was competent – enough – but incompetent enough to fear competency in others; in Hardeen. And when one seemed as capable as this "Rako Hardeen," assassin of "Obi-Wan Kenobi" – well, he might get quite greedy indeed.

* * *

><p>Eval was not earning any awards for interior design; this room matched the first, down to the grid lines. The nine survivors gathered into yet another loose knot; the stakes were getting higher. All had survived the first challenge; two had fallen in the second.<p>

"To reach my final challenge, you must pass through my ray shield." Eval's mammoth face was once again projected upon the walls as the walls flared red with the crackling of barely contained energy. "The switch to turn it off is also ray-shielded." A panel slid aside in one wall, below the looming face of Moralo Evan and well above the reach of the competitors before it, too, hummed behind its own shield. Another block rose into the air and opened up to reveal a hypospray. "You will need the anti-electrum serum to allow one of you to get through the ray shields, but –" he chuckled as Sixtat eagerly reached forward, "it is toxic to all but one of you."

Sixtat snatched his hand back.

With a faint grinding rumble, a number of the blocks rose unevenly like a square sided pyramid before aligning into a flat tapped platform large enough for all. The savvy or quick-witted quickly jumped onto it. The Rhodian, Jakoli, was less fortunate, too slow and when the floor flared with the energy, so too did his body, convulsing with the pulses until only death stilled him.

Between the platform and the recess holding the switch more blocks popped up like stepping stones. Losing his footing, another bounty hunter slipped and joined the unlucky Jakoli.

The Parwan gibbered something which no one understood, and reached forward.

"Now wait a minute, who put you in charge?" Bane protested, grabbing the syringe away from the tentacle. "Anyone know what this gasbag's sayin'?"

After a pause, Obi-Wan ventured, "I do; he says he can get us out." Stepping from behind Bane, he took the hypospray and handed it without hesitation to Derrown. "He's a Parwan; his blood type can take the electro-serum."

Bane crossed his arms. "Are you certain?"

Obi-Wan turned to him, a slight smile playing over his face, unseen beneath his helmet. "It's 50-50. It depends on his blood type."

"Uh, huh." Bane growled, but more out of habit than doubt for he made no move to prevent the Parwan from injecting itself. Though it seemed escape was within reach, random blocks dropped, forcing the bounty hunters to consolidate on fewer and fewer blocks as the ray shields slowly converged; the zone of safety getting smaller and smaller. "Hurry," someone shouted to the Parwan. Another one was claimed, dying when his foot slipped and in trying to recover his balance, contacted the ray shield.

Even with the serum, Derrown struggled to reach through the sparking particles, almost as if the shield was alive and fighting back. The will to survive was stronger than its resistance. A part of Obi-Wan was fascinated at the sheer power; even with the Force as one's ally he doubted a Jedi would ever be able to breach such a shield. Slowly, ever so slowly, the Parwan pushed forward, stretching and stretching even more, a tentacle first, then the head and torso, the second "am" tentacle – and then Derrown lunged forward and pressed the button.

The shield died and the room went black.

The lights returned as all the blocks slammed to the same level, a smooth pathway to the suddenly open exit before them.

Bane brushed by Obi-Wan with a suspicious, "How'd you know that?"

"I used to kill Parwans for a living," Obi-Wan replied smoothly, glancing aside at Derrown, who squeaked and swiveled its head.


	11. Chapter 11

Thanks again to those of you reading...

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><p><strong>Chapter 11<strong>.

_Consistency is the last refuge of the unimaginative. ~~ Oscar Wilde_

Feeling both light of spirit and heavy in heart, Anakin stepped into Yoda's meditation room, much of his turbulent emotion bled off during the long flight home. He'd been abruptly ordered there upon landing at the Temple which was fine by him. Anakin was in the mood for answers and he would have demanded them, summoned or not.

At least he had had the time on the trip home to think. He couldn't really say he had calmed down, but the edge of his anger had banked into righteous indignation.

Obi-Wan was alive.

Force, he was going to kill his old master for this deception and then – well, he just might set all Jedi decorum aside and actually hug the man. Then he'd kill him a second time, although the hug itself might well do it. Obi-Wan would almost certainly drop dead of a heart attack, especially if the cruel deed was in front of the Council. His old master was downright fanatic with his insistence on proper protocol and demeanor.

Hang protocol.

Hugged to death. Obi-Wan. Now there was something impossible to truly contemplate.

No wonder a frown and a smile had fought for control of Anakin's expression the entire way home. Only Obi-Wan had this kind of power over him. Only his old master could drive him to delight and affronted anger simultaneously.

Affronted indignation alone accompanied him to this meeting with Yoda, for he well knew the Council bore the bantha's degree of fault for his current state of mind. Obi-Wan had been ordered to deceive Anakin and as usual, the man had submitted to their so-called "greater wisdom."

Force blast the man's humble deference to those he deemed wiser and more in tune with the Force. Obi-Wan was a great Jedi in his own right. He loved the man...but he was aggravating beyond belief.

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><p>Your 'box' does not seem to be as much of a challenge as I thought. Perhaps I should put Hardeen in charge of the mission," Dooku mused. Beside him, Eval stiffened in outrage.<p>

"But this was my plan; you promised me the lead role," Eval protested.

Slimy toad, half kowtowing, half challenging – protesting and deferring all at the same time. Dooku found the display a bit pitiful. Eval was a servant, a minion and when his usefulness was exhausted, his life would be forfeit.

"You have one last test to change my mind." He decided to be magnanimous and hide his contempt.

"Do not fear, Count Dooku, I will show you who is weak." Somehow finding his spine, Eval had found courage at last.

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><p>"You wanted to see me, Master," Anakin inquired politely, a cold edge to his voice.<p>

A banked fire within, Anakin stepped within Yoda's meditation chamber. As usual the blinds were half shut, bars of light and dark striping the walls and the floor, bars of shadow and light. It could be a prison built of light and barred by darkness; a prison the Order built around itself? The Force was the light, the bars the barriers that denied compassion and feeling. Why had he never noticed this before? Why had he noticed it now?

Because he now knew the truth; the truth illuminated by deception and made of dark and light, each thrown into stark relief by the other.

"Wrong to deceive you it was, but much at stake there is."

Anakin clenched his fist. "So I was right, Obi-Wan is alive."

Yoda nodded. "Skywalker, a powerful Jedi, you are, yet unpredictable and a danger to both your friends and enemies. For Obi-Wan, on your patience everything depends."

"What if he needs our help?" Because even though Obi-Wan was good – was great – he was not that good that he could do whatever he was doing alone; he needed someone to cover his back and rush to his rescue when plans went wrong. Plans always went wrong, Anakin knew from hard experience, and not because Anakin tossed them aside as Obi-Wan usually claimed. Anakin tossed them aside because he knew they wouldn't work; he didn't have to wait for them to fall apart. He acted. Obi-Wan merely waited – and negotiated – and preached patience, but a man on an abyss shouldn't wait; he should get away from the edge and as quickly as possible.

No, he knew full well that delay was deadly, and by all that he swore by, by his mother's memory, Obi-Wan would not be a casualty due to Anakin's absence and failure to act.

Obi-Wan needed Anakin and always would, though his deception meant that he thought he did not. It rankled, down deep, Obi-Wan's lack of trust, for no other reason would his former master deceive him except – unless – it were jealousy and a wish to prove himself as capable as his padawan. That fear had subsided somewhat since his knighting – no, Obi-Wan was not jealous, envious perhaps, but not jealous. Trust, the issue was trust or the lack of it. Lack of trust and deception were linked in unholy alliance.

Palpatine saw, Palpatine knew, and Palpatine had warned but he had not heeded: he had chosen to be deaf, to be blind, to deny the truth. But another truth shone just as brightly and just as mercilessly: Anakin was exceedingly fond of his mentor, faults and all.

And because of that and despite the pain and hurt, Anakin would not abandon Obi-Wan to an uncertain fate. He could not. He was meant to help, to save and by the Force, he would do so.

"If you leave, help him you could, his future, mmm…uncertain it is. Trust in Obi-Wan we must."

And so help him, Anakin merely nodded and accepted Yoda's words. For now, at least; surely Obi-Wan wasn't in immediate danger. He would know, he always knew.

But when imminent became actual threat to Obi-Wan, Force help those who stood in his way.

* * *

><p>Imagination could befuddle the wisest of opponents were they lacking in the same.<p>

Eval had little imagination: this room as well was a bare, gridded room, equally as massive when the survivors walked out from the tunnel that connected the last test site to this. Once again, a column of blocks led into the room and ended in the middle, a peninsula into a void of something yet unrevealed. Impassively, Obi-Wan studied the walls and floor far beneath; the danger had always arisen from the walls and floor that confined them.

"The final challenge has arrived," Eval's voice boomed out.

Floor panels flipped open to reveal row upon row of nozzles surrounding them on three sides, a smooth wall behind them. Pop-out flame throwers, tongues of fire shooting upwards.

Across the room, a panel slid aside and Eval stepped forward; the first time he had been present other than in projection. He touched a button on an arm controller. Blocks – again blocks - rose up, enlarging the bounty hunters' peninsula into a veritable oasis of safety above the fire below, though it did not protect them from the heat washing across them. Embo spat some question. Probably guessing what had been asked, Eval shook his head, touched another button and the nozzles retracted under their panels.

"We're going to test your sniper skills. Hit the target; three hits and don't miss." He released a light ball that skittered and tracked against the far wall as a cabinet unfolded to reveal one blaster rifle.

"Get back, boys, I'll show you how it's done." Sixtat grinned, strutting to it with the confidence of a man who was in his element. He raised the rifle and tracked the light, aimed, and fired. The ball pulsed, showing a hit. Sixtat made the second hit; the third, he missed.

A row of blocks dropped, sending Sixtat tumbling to the suddenly reactivated flames beneath. Eval chuckled.

"I get it; if we miss the target, this platform gets smaller. Soon there won't be any platform left," Obi-Wan bit out. He shouldered his way past the others to the cabinet and took a second rifle that rotated to view, whipped it to his shoulder and tracked the ball of light, fired and scored, three times in quick succession.

Eval's face hardened and he touched a button. Loosely aligned behind Obi-Wan, the bounty hunters shifted and muttered as the blocks on which they stood rumbled upwards, leaving the Jedi isolated on a much narrower platform. as blocks dropped away from his side as well, leaving him only a narrow platform on which to stand.

"This is not the first time you've saved everyone, Hardeen," Eval sneered. "Five more hits. Let's see how good you really are."

Without comment, Obi-Wan raised the rifle and fired, barely pausing between shots. He made four, but when he pulled the trigger on the fifth, the rifle did not fire.

"Ohhh, what a shame, out of charges," Eval mock-sympathized. "It's also important as a bounty hunter to be lucky and yours just ran out." Thoroughly enjoying himself, he activated his wrist control and one by one, blocks dropped in quick succession like ice bergs calving from glaciers. Obi-Wan retreated, block by block, until he could retreat no more. Soon all the surrounding blocks had dropped but one – the one on which he stood.

He could jump up to the others, Obi-Wan supposed, but the Force told him to remain still, to accept his apparent fate. His faith was absolute; his fate would be as the Force willed.

He stood poised on the brink…and when the last block fell, so did Obi-Wan, falling into the fiery flames below.


	12. Chapter 12

Two notes to answer questions: the chapters do not match episodes, so last chapter's cliff-hanger was actually in the middle of the episode.

As to dialogue, while I usually write my own, most has been taken from the show when the scene was in the show - i.e. Moralo Eval -Dooku- Obi-Wan last chapter. It's just easier than trying to reword and helps when I'm scratching my head wondering how/why the writers went from** this** to** that **and how do I make it sound logical.

That is the joy of 22 minute episodes, I think - you don't need logical explanations; heck, you don't always even need explanations for things that upon closer analysis need them. I've tried to come up with some explanations, some quite convoluted, actually and some I've just crossed my fingers and hope no one looks too closely.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 12.<strong>

_Fiction reveals truths that reality obscures.__**Jessamyn West**_

Thwang! The falling Jedi jerked to an abrupt stop as a cable wrapped around Obi-Wan's wrist. Dangling in mid-air, he turned his head upwards and saw rather to his surprise that his savior was, of all people, Cad Bane.

"How dare you defy Moralo Eval," the Phindian fumed as he shook his fist.

"If you're going to kill him, do it like a man," Bane growled, unimpressed.

"You heard him, Eval." A booming voice filled the room. "It's time to see what you are made of."

With a soft hiss and barely perceptible click, the flame throwers retracted leaving just those that rimmed the perimeter. Obi-Wan's eyes narrowed; in other circumstances he might have stroked his beard thoughtfully as he, along with the others, found themselves drawn to Dooku's face looming large upon the walls. Eval, too, swiveled and yelped in stuttered surprise as the alcove mercilessly closed in on him, squeezing and pushing until Eval was popped out of his alcove to tumble to the floor. One block rose beneath Obi-Wan, an invitation to drop the few meters to its surface rather than the long way to the floor.

So it was to be one against one.

He freed himself from Bane's cable and took the invitation – not that he could have refused anyway.

Cool appraisal met simmering resentment, stare met stare although neither one yet moved. The next move was not theirs, but Dooku's – until Eval decided nothing was stopping from initiating another part of his plan.

With a soft whoosh, five probe droids zoomed out from a concealed panel in the ceiling and dove at Obi-Wan, spitting blaster bolts. Obi-Wan dodged a bolt, a second, and then launched into the air to smash one remote into the wall with a flying kick where it shattered into pieces. Another remote dove at him; Obi-Wan leapt to grab it, whirled to gain momentum and flung it into yet another. The impact destroyed both.

As another remote screamed towards him, Obi-Wan sprang and latched onto it, dangling much as he'd done years before on Coruscant, though at least this time he hadn't had to dive through a transparisteel panel and the surface was rather closer than the hundreds of stories beneath him then. He'd gotten a lecture from both Yoda and his padawan on that stunt afterwards – "dangerous, reckless, fool-hardy," acidic comments that he'd countered calmly.

"I did as the Force urged," was just as popular with the Council then as when Qui-Gon had uttered it, although somewhat more effective. Obi-Wan never made the "Force made me to do it" an excuse, only a reason and he didn't invoke it often.

"Flying" with the remote, he ran across the wall and with an overhead strike slammed it into Eval's chest. Landing lightly on his feet, he informed the Phindian, "You'll have to do better than that."

"You've seen nothing yet,' Eval taunted in return, punching his wrist control and smirking at the Jedi.

That blasted thing was starting to get on Obi-Wan's nerves. The floor was going crazy again, blocks shooting up to create a literal obstacle course. Eval scampered away as Obi-Wan chased him, dodging and weaving in pursuit, skidding to a stop when the blocks boxed him in. It didn't take Jedi senses, just common sense to realize it was a trap, one meant to incinerate Obi-Wan – he leapt clear as flame throwers unfolded and spat their deadly flames where he had been just seconds before.

Crouched above Eval, Obi-Wan growled, "Let's even the plan" and fell upon the Phindian, his target the controller. With controlled ferocity, he smashed Eval's arm to the floor, only to be tossed aside and rushed. They traded punches, Eval desperate and Obi-Wan determined. This was a battle that could not end in stalemate; there would be a winner and there would be a loser. Once one exhausted all means short of battle, one went into battle and won – that was something Obi-Wan had learned young and something life had reinforced during the last few months of a war no one wanted and every Jedi wished to see end.

A sudden rush by Eval and Obi-Wan landed hard on his back.

Force, Obi-Wan was tired of being a punching bag.

As a distraction, he'd let himself be slammed around by a Zygerrian slaver on Kiros only to find the punishment he had willingly accepted to buy Anakin and Ahsoka time to find and disarm all the bombs had only furthered a sham – all the Tugrutan colonists had already been taken by slavers. Shaking off those aches and bruises, they'd all taken off to Zygerria itself. Fifty thousand missing, fifty thousand they were all determined to restore to their home. There, an error in judgment had gotten him stunned and captured, and in captivity, electro-whipped mercilessly.

All that had been as nothing compared to what followed on Kadavo, after his "processing" along with Rex. He had accepted being humbled and forced into submission, knowing it was only a charade of obedience; inside the heart of a Jedi had burned bright and determined, ready to make his escape and free the kidnapped Togrutans.

The slavers had found a whip more cutting than electro-whips, though – they had flayed Obi-Wan with the knowledge that any stepping out of line, any protest, any misbehavior resulted in a swift and sure punishment to those around him. In helping others, he hurt them.

That knowledge had almost broken him. He had had to deny his urge to help – in order to truly help. He had had to submit, to save the innocent, knowing full well that submission was also defeat; submission was rejection of the central principle guiding his life and submission was thwarting the Force's will.

Denying compassion had been a terrible torture and a flicker of resentment still burned within him. The Force had yet to snuff it out, though Obi-Wan had had no desire to nurse the unwelcome and aching ember.

Any speech, any action, any helping hand…and Obi-Wan's pent up anger and frustration boiled over. He'd barely recovered physically, he hadn't had time to recover, he hadn't had time to meditate, he hadn't had time to release his feelings into the Force and he was – so – sick of war, sick of the pain, sick at the deaths and the pain and the suffering and now sick at deceiving his padawan – he sprung like a Pfanther and with the momentum of an enraged Bantha, he flattened Eval and throw roundhouse punch after punch after punch until the part of him that would always hold to the light overpowered the part that was slipping away.

He was sick of the violence that dominated his life; just – sick.

He sank to his knees, reigning in his emotions with an iron will. Eval was defeated and that was sufficient for the moment. To throw even one more punch would defeat him, the man and the Jedi he wished always to be, someone who abhorred violence no matter how necessary it sometimes became. He would not become someone he did not recognize and did not wish to be. He hadn't hit all that hard, but he had hit Eval, over and over. He had exceeded what necessity had required of him. He refused to become someone he did not recognize and did not wish to be. A man overwhelmed, it was true, but he was more than a man. He was a Jedi, not this alter ego of necessity which was consuming him. He wasn't Rako Hardeen.

He wished only to be Obi-Wan Kenobi.

And that he would be.

"Finish him," Dooku ordered, breaking his silence. Obi-Wan merely stared down at Eval, finding a fleeting sympathy for the panting Phindian. Dooku's words did not stir him. Eval was defeated. Obi-Wan would not break him and he would not kill him.

He had made his choice on who he would be; that was sufficient for him.

"Very disappointing."

With an oh-so-weary push to his feet, Obi-Wan shot back, "With all due respect, I just want to do my job and get my money." He didn't look back as he trudged back to the others.

* * *

><p>Dooku almost sneered. Sneering, however, was so – pedestrian. Common. He let his lips curl in derision instead.<p>

Hardeen was a tough guy, capable and intelligent, but he wasn't heartless enough, not ruthless enough. He had strength – oh, he had strength, enough to pull back from beating Eval, enough to rein in his obvious, almost _appalling_ loss of control. Hardeen was one of those people who could only be pushed so far, by others, by circumstances, and by his own humanity.

A more blatant display of self he hadn't seen in some while.

Oh, he had plans for Hardeen all right. But not yet. A minor adjustment to Eval's plan, one he had intended all along. There were no coincidences in life. Master Sidious had been right as Dooku had been right. They knew their enemies too well; their weaknesses and strengths. So predictable the Jedi, so clever in thwarting the Sith that they did exactly what the Sith expected.

They sent a sacrificial Gamorrean.

"Well done; you have survived. I have decided to appoint a new leader," all eyes swiveled to Hardeen, except Cad Bane's – interesting, Cad Bane so self-assured, so confident it bordered on cocky, so competent as well, "Cad Bane. We shall regroup shortly and there you will learn your role in bringing the Republic to its knees. That is my goal – yours, I understand, is more concrete – riches, I believe. Riches you shall have, but not yet. You must still do your part but I have every faith in you."

Of course they were expendable. Anyone willing to barter his life for a fortune once would barter it again and again. Not that they had anything to betray, but it was the principle of the thing.

The only ones who might be said to have his respect were Cad Bane and Rako Hardeen; the latter only in his own identity.


	13. Chapter 13

AFTER I started writing this, it came out in episode notes that Dooku was well aware that Hardeen was a Jedi (although I forget if he knew it was Obi-Wan specifically). Because of my lack of knowledge (and I would have thought he would have acted a bit differently had he known) I've tried to slide unobtrusively from his not knowing to his knowing.

Thanks again for all your kind comments.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 13<strong>.

_You have to imagine it possible before you can see something. You can have the evidence right in front of you, but if you can't imagine something that has never existed before, it's impossible.__**Rita Dove**__  
><em>

* * *

><p>"Master, what did the Council say, why is Master Obi-Wan deceiving us…" Ahsoka was doing a remarkable job of containing her half-exhilaration and half- resentment. She was maturing; not long ago she would have been almost hopping from foot to foot.<p>

"He's on an undercover mission, Snips." He wasn't going to say more; it wasn't his place. The more who knew a secret, the less secret said secret was.

"Oh." Her eyes suddenly widened comically as she made the intuitive leap to the truth. "We put Master Obi-Wan in prison! We chased him to Nal Hutta and Orondia; we tried to make him crash -"

"And succeeded," Anakin muttered.

"Oooh, he must have liked that!" She giggled, a bit nervously. Even Anakin had to stifle a grin. Suddenly sobering, she said rather hesitantly, "He was the one who beat you up?"

"No one beat me up," he retorted, suddenly annoyed. His hand strayed to his face. If he closed his eyes, he could see the fists coming at him, not just once, but over and over. There had been no mercy in those punches. What had been in Obi-Wan's eyes? He couldn't remember. Why couldn't he remember – that's where truth always lay. Had there been regret, perhaps sorrow?

Was there something in those eyes that had kept him from fighting back?

"You were a mess, Skyguy," Ahsoka said, in her remembered concern for her master forgetting all about Obi-Wan and his deception. It warmed Anakin's heart to know how important he was to her. If Obi-Wan had taught him about deception, Ahsoka had taught him about loyalty and how it could be still be found, amongst some of the Jedi. She had been at his side, mourned with him, taken the burden of speaking to the Council off his shoulders. _She_ trusted him without reservation, and he realized this padawan he had been so reluctant to take on had earned his trust in full measure as well.

"You were dizzy and I had to help you back to the ship. You were hurt."

"I was dazed and confused," he corrected sharply. Realizing that sounded like a rebuke, he put a hand on her shoulder and squeezed gently. He didn't mean to snap at her. "Remember I fell onto hard ground, but me, being the magnificent Jedi I am," he puffed his chest out mock-proudly, chivvying her – perhaps them both – out of this mood, "I bounced to my feet, bruised and my halo tarnished a bit -"

Ahsoka snorted. "You've got to have a halo, Master, to lose one."

"I had one when I was a padawan; you mean they took it when they cut my braid?" He clapped his hand to his heart, staggering back a step. "Seriously, Snips, I fell and I fought both Cad Bane and the man I thought was Obi-Wan's killer. I landed more punches than I took; Obi-Wan just got lucky."

_And he didn't hesitate to take advantage of my state of mind; he knew I was fighting out of frustration and anger while he pulled that same old Obi-Wan routine that he knows riles me up – cool and methodical, giving me a chance to wear myself out. He wasn't fighting fair_.

Obi-Wan was always pretending to be the good little Jedi, doing what the Order demanded, always so placid and serene – but that was the Obi-Wan Kenobi he presented to the galaxy, to the Order, and to his own padawan. What if the real Obi-Wan had peeked out from beneath his veneer of anonymity – he'd had a glimpse of the inner man years ago when he'd first met him. What if their entire relationship had been built on a ruse while resentment continued to simmer within?

_You're crazy, Anakin…you know Obi-Wan better than that!_

Or did he? The Chancellor didn't think so:_ "They don't trust you…I trust you, Anakin…_ _perhaps they don't trust you to control your feelings."_

Trust Obi-Wan to always control his feelings…assuming he ever actually felt any in his rush to release them. Why would he hold back from fighting his padawan? Anakin stood in his way at the time, right? Stood in the way of his kriffin' "duty"! Just knock over the obstacle with a few good punches when a few good words wouldn't do and do what he felt had to be done.

Feel nothing…yeah, that was Obi-Wan all right. "Feel nothing Kenobi," just a lackey of the Council…Anakin winced a bit at his own harsh indictment of the man who had raised him.

He'd lived with the man for years. Maybe Obi-Wan didn't quite trust him as the Chancellor said, but he wasn't a droid. He was quiet and self-contained, wary of showing feelings rather than lacking them.

Right?

Things had been a bit strained between them after Zygerria and Kadavo. Even his brief stint as a slave hadn't damaged Obi-Wan's show of serenity; he isolated himself from emotional damage while easily absorbing the physical. He'd known Obi-Wan would have no understanding of his own ordeal; he'd tried to breach the subject once in his cool and quiet, _prying_, manner.

"_So you considered accepting the Queen's offer?"_

_Subtle accusation; it touched a nerve and Anakin flared back. "I considered whether it was worth staying with her to save you!"_

_Obi-Wan leaned against the wall, arms crossed. "What conclusion did you come to?"_

_Anakin slammed his artificial hand down on the table. Obi-Wan merely cocked an eyebrow at him. "You'd probably be proud of me if I sacrificed myself for you – or scold me for wanting to save your life. Lucky for me, circumstances developed such that I could save you, the settlers, and myself." And return to Padmé, conscience salved._

"_Not luck, the Force. Trust it and you will be guided to the right action." _

"_Right. Did the Force guide you to settle back and wait for rescue – what did you do to make life a bit easier for those slaves – nothing, right?" The scorn in his voice bloomed like the startling spot of red in Obi-Wan's face; in that instant he thought he saw raw, cold anger blaze in his former master's eyes, but in the next moment he was sure he was mistaken. _

_Rex opened his mouth, but Obi-Wan shook his head at him, eyes intent on Anakin's. Why had he never noticed the fine lines at the corners, more prominent now, the dull gleam of weary, old eyes reflected in an equally weary, old voice. Weary, after all that horrible ordeal Obi-Wan was merely weary – he could hold the soul-sucking degradation of slavery at arm's length and remain unaffected, but not even he could hold off the physical ravages entirely. _

_Sometimes, Anakin thought, he'd rather it be the other way around. A soul-sick Obi-Wan would understand, but not a weary one._

"_The choices we face as Jedi are difficult sometimes, Anakin. Sometimes there is only a choice between a bad decision and a worse. Sometimes you can only put the decision into the hands of the Force and, yes, let it guide you. For what it's worth, sometimes doing the right thing…," he paused and a shadow crossed his face, "sometimes it seems to do right, one has to do what one believes is not the right thing. Now if you don't mind, I think I'll take advantage of this brief respite and rest."_

_Wearing a soft frown and distant expression, Obi-Wan pushed himself upright and left the room, rubbing a finger along his forehead, almost wandering away, presumably to his bunk. Not until later did Anakin learn he had wandered down to the confused Togrutans and sought to allay their concerns._

_After an uncomfortable pause, Rex turned to Anakin and said, rather intensely, "With all due respect, sir, you don't have a clue what he really went through. Maybe you should ask him."_

"_I did, Rex, I did."_

"_Did you listen to what he didn't say, General? We both know that's what you have to listen to if you want more than bare recitation of the facts. He was pretty torn up down there."_

"_So you're an armchair soul healer now, Rex?"_

"_To get the men to listen to you, you have to listen to them. You learn things. What General Kenobi doesn't say is sometimes more important than what he does; all that other stuff has to go somewhere, sir."_

"_The Force?"_

"_I'm not a Jedi, sir. I couldn't say; I can't hear it speak to me nor can I hear what others say to it. I'm just a soldier and one that needs to get back to his men, with your permission."_

Anakin's harsh accusation, the bitter condemnation, the cruel _truth_ had finally punctuated Obi-Wan's emotional defenses, much to Anakin's satisfaction. Obi-Wan had been awfully subdued after that. The wry bite behind his witticisms had been muted; exhaustion had lain deep behind his eyes.

_Yeah, really unaffected wasn't he? Maybe because you were so affected yourself, you didn't stop to think how _he_ was. You didn't look into the Force to see what he was discarding there. _

Anakin hated to be this confused. He should go talk to Padmé, perhaps the Chancellor. They both saw clearly what so often baffled him. If Ahsoka were older, knighted, he'd welcome her insight as well, but he couldn't talk to his padawan about his relationship with his master and a Council master to boot.

Cheerfully oblivious to Anakin's lack of attention, Ahsoka plowed ahead. "Better not let Master Kenobi hear you say he got lucky, you know he doesn't believe in luck. Just a good jab or two, right, Master, a few punches and a choke hold and only successful because as 'luck would have it' you were already bruised and winded, right?"

"Darn right." His forced cheery reply worked, Ahsoka brightened. Kriff, if he only believed it himself.

"_Anakin. Don't follow me_." Hazy words that floated in his memory, words that had hardly registered at the time. Urgent words tinged with concern – surely he hadn't imagined that.

Had Obi-Wan put on a show for Cad Bane? Protected him by pummeling him like that? Or had he made sure Anakin was in no shape to follow him, to help him and if so why – because he didn't trust Anakin? It always came back to that. Trust. He sure as hell hadn't protected Anakin – Ahsoka had, arriving with lightsabers blazing in his defense when Bane would have coolly shot him as he lay sprawled on the ground…

….as Obi-Wan looked on, not one finger raised in protest.

* * *

><p>Obi-Wan's mind was not on the upcoming plot to kill the Chancellor: until the details were shared with the team members there was little he could do at this time. Nor was his mind on the challenges now behind him; they were in the past and only of interest as indicators of what might lie ahead. But try as he might to simply be, to accept the moment for what it was, he found it difficult not to let memories and worries intrude. He wasn't fond of the direction his thoughts were taking him, yet there was little he could do – he didn't dare meditate and slip into the Force. It was too risky with Dooku near.<p>

"_Mind your thoughts, Kenobi, remember don't look to the future at the expense of the moment._"

Qui-Gon had repeated that to him so many times it was burned into his brain. Qui-Gon, so long gone and still missed. The pain and the grief were gone as well, but there were still times when Obi-Wan meant to turn to him, to ask a question or seek advice, only to find he was not there. If anything of him remained, in any place, any form but memory, it was their destination. Now Obi-Wan was returning to where he had been killed, supposedly there to kill another man but determined to save this man as he could not save his master.

Back to Naboo. Such a pretty planet, Naboo, and one he associated with ugly things, never good. Good people, yes, but events there would always cast a pall over his visits.

He had gone to Naboo as a padawan, twice, never knowing the impact events there would have on his future. Life had been far simpler in those days. Gassed, shot at, chased by large fish – simple, if eventful. All in all, rather routine.

He lost Qui-Gon there; his easy assumption that things really didn't change all that much. Everything changed when Qui-Gon died; he had lost a mentor and gained a padawan, lost what was left of his innocence and gained knighthood. He had touched the dark and recoiled from the same. For a long time he had thought he been tainted by that explosive surge of grief and anger but when his tears had slipped free as he cradled a dying man in his arms, he knew the taint if it had ever been there had been washed away by the Force; washed away by his tears for another.

Evil does not cry.

His sorrow and his jealousy – yes, there had been some of that, along with resentment, that Qui-Gon died without acknowledging their many years together – had been softened and dulled when he surrendered everything to the Force.

The remnants had evaporated under that merciless light and he had believed he had conquered them for all time. But what was eroding now under the months of ceaseless battle and endless political posturing? What moral authority could the Order – could he – claim when they dipped into the depths of duplicity and deceit?

He sank his head into his hands and sighed. When their mandate to _protect_ collided with truth and underhanded dealings – when good could only be accomplished by morally dubious means, did the Order forego their mandate or their morals?

No lines had been yet crossed; they tap-danced on the edge and found a dubious balance, but one could only tap-dance so long. When they fell, if they fell, how would they fall? Who would protect the victimized and the innocent then?

A part of Obi-Wan wished Anakin would fulfill the prophecy soon – and another part feared for that day. He had a terrible feeling that balance would not be accomplished peacefully, that in assuring peace and balance for others, Anakin might not survive. As a man and as a Jedi, as Anakin's master and his friend, Obi-Wan hung on a thread of hope and dread.

He would never wish harm to come to Anakin.

Yet the greatest harm to Anakin since his mother's death was dealt by him already. Obi-Wan had deceived him.

Force help him, he'd do it again. But the undercurrent of remorse would always be with him as well.

One more burden atop all the others he bore.


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter 14.**

_Competence, like truth, beauty, and contact lenses, is in the eye of the beholder.__**Laurence J. Peter**_

Anakin had managed to wrestle his unhappiness with Obi-Wan out of sight and out of mind. Now that he knew the why of his exclusion and the position his master had willingly placed himself in, he could focus on the mission. On protecting Chancellor Palpatine. He could almost forgive Obi-Wan and the Council the deception when he understood the complexity and necessity of the deception.

Almost.

However, leaving Anakin in the dark had exposed Obi-Wan to far more danger than was necessary. Something might – something would – go wrong. It always did, and who would be there to rescue Obi-Wan because Anakin had been left out, left behind?

Equally important, who would save Chancellor Palpatine, should something go wrong, should Obi-Wan be unable to stop the plot? By going this alone, by excluding Anakin, the Order was playing with the Chancellor's life, the very survival of the Republic. It was unconscionable. They at least had had the sense to fill in Anakin and make him part of the planning.

_Just about the only kriffin' thing they've done right._

"We've mapped the Chancellor's route to and from the festival stage and know where he'll be at all times," Master Windu activated a hologram map as the briefing continued.

"And the security measures we've put in place?" Plo Koon questioned.

"The Naboo Royal Guard will protect all entry points to the palace and the stage itself will be ray-shielded."

Anakin slowly nodded in approval –someone on the Council was actually thinking instead of merely reacting; the idea of using a ray shield was a brilliant one and one _he_ should have thought of – those shields were notoriously hard to breach. Impossible, he was almost tempted to say.

"Sounds good to me."

Yoda was less enthusiastic. "With complacency comes vulnerability; it is what we do not see that concerns me. Count Dooku has had a long time to plan."

"Yes. With Obi-Wan on the inside we thought we'd have an advantage, but," and the stoic Mace's eyes were troubled, "we've had no contact with him in days."

"Obi-Wan will do his part, let's make sure we do ours," Anakin ground out. How dare Mace question his former master's competence – if he was out of touch, it was because it was not safe to be in touch – _what if Obi-Wan needed him_? No, he forced that thought away; he'd know if that were so. Obi-Wan was not the same man who had failed to save Qui-Gon years ago; he had grown more skilled and wise (and duplicitous?) in the years since he had been a padawan. He wouldn't make the same mistake again; it was only indirectly his fault that so many Jedi had died on Geonosis when they'd come to save him. Very indirectly, since Anakin had been caught as well trying to rescue him so really it wasn't either of their faults.

Kriff the Council. Eleven of them weren't half of Obi-Wan.

Anakin turned on his heel and strode out, unaware and uncaring if the Council exchanged looks or not behind his back. He never was much concerned with their thoughts at the best of times, let alone now, when two people dear to him were likely to need him.

* * *

><p>On the fringes of the small group infiltrating one of the Theed hangars, Obi-Wan felt a prickle of unease. As the sniper of the group, he would have expected to have been one of those chosen to take down any maintenance workers, pilots or guards they might encounter. Instead, he was at the rear with Twazzi and Count Dooku.<p>

Choked grunts, pained cries, the metallic clatter of fallen tools and the soft thud of falling bodies told the story of his fellow plotters advancement. Cad Bane stopped ahead of him, framed in the doorway. "Hello there," he greeted someone and then he drew his blaster and fired. "All clear," he said coolly, leading the way past the body.

Six men dead just today; six more added to this mission's toll. Six families soon to find their joyous Celebration of Life festival would forever henceforth be a sorrowful one, much as Naboo's Freedom Day celebration was forever branded in Obi-Wan's heart as the day of Qui-Gon's death. Six more men on Obi-Wan's conscience, men he did not trouble to save because to save them endangered so much more.

Six more men to tuck into a corner of his mind because after an all-too-brief moment to mourn, Obi-Wan knew he had to set them aside for the good of the mission. When he had time – if he had time – they were six more reasons to seek refuge in the Force through meditation.

But first was Count Dooku's pep talk – all would go as planned…execute the role assigned…expect a big reward: the usual drivel.

Gathering around a work bench, Bane threw datapads onto the table. Instructions, he explained, for each person's role and information on regrouping afterwards.

"And how do the pieces fit together?"

Bane gave a cursory answer. Derrown was to breach the shield; Eval was to be the getaway driver while Embo and Twazzi were to be guards protecting the Chancellor. Hardeen was to be the sniper.

The how of this all was a surprise: their disguises came courtesy of something the Jedi had never heard of – a "shadow matrix." Bane spun a plate-like device on the table and activated it: four "guards" stood at the points.

"Step into the shadow hologram and receive your new identities." Cautiously, each of the four took a step forward and seemed to melt into the hologram. "When you leave here, you will have no communication with the rest of the team."

A perfect opportunity to get into communication with the Jedi, Obi-Wan thought with a bit of relief. In all their planning, with all their experience, they could not possibly hope to anticipate the use of a Parwan posing as a guard to breach the shield itself in order to shut it off. It was a brilliant plan and now in hindsight Obi-Wan could well believe this entire deception was Force-inspired. Getting Anakin to acknowledge the same…but time to worry about that later.

* * *

><p>Anakin's heart leapt; waiting on the landing platform were the Queen, Sio Bibble – and Padmé. He longed to tell her about Obi-Wan and almost feared doing the same. She would be upset on his behalf, possibly more upset than he had been on learning the truth. Anyone who harmed her husband was greeted with the minimum of civility; her loyalty to him was absolute and woe to the person who harmed him in any way, shape or form.<p>

Obi-Wan would soon learn that one did not cross Padmé without consequences. The Hero Without Fear wasn't sure if he was brave enough to watch from the sidelines, but watching his former master scorned and rebuked and totally unable to do a thing except grin and bear it was too good an exhibit to miss. Usually The Negotiator could shrug off such words at the table, but he did respect Padmé; losing her respect would sting and sting hard.

_That's what happens, Obi-Wan, when a man who stands on principles blatantly violates them_.

Ah, yes, he almost gleefully rubbed his hands together. The Negotiator was going to get an earful of angry words driven into his brain. He wouldn't be able to rub that headache away with a finger. After a suitable time of suffering, Anakin might offer a pain pill.

Or maybe not.

Shutting down the ship's engines, he and his co-pilot Mace, along with Ahsoka, followed the guards, Chancellor Palpatine and Mas Amadda down the ramp.

The usual and diplomatic greetings went as they usually did. Formal words… greetings… welcome…Anakin listened with half an ear, throwing sideways glances at Padmé all the while until he caught the Chancellor's words to Mace Windu. He almost smiled; the Chancellor could be so naïve sometimes.

"… and the amount of security that accompanied me is – overkill."

"With all due respect, Chancellor, where your safety is concerned, there is no such thing as 'overkill'," Mace responded.

"So you keep insisting, Master Jedi, and I have grown tired of discussing it." Palpatine turned away from Mace, his lips pressed together in a tight line.

_Take that, Master Windu_!

On the other hand, Mace Windu was right, much as Anakin hated to admit it. Palpatine's safety _was_ paramount. Still, one Anakin Skywalker was on the job and said Anakin Skywalker was determined no harm would come to the Chancellor.

That alone guaranteed his safety.

* * *

><p>Obi-Wan slipped into his assigned position, set down the sniper rifle case and started assembling the weapon, glancing out the opening as he worked. The platform was below him and to the side, well within sniper range but too far for blasters.<p>

As he watched, a speeder drew up, disgorging Mace and a few clones. A small smile of relief touched Obi-Wan's lips. He reached for his comlink and signaled.

Caught in mid-sentence from the look of it, Mace excused himself to one side. "Obi-Wan, thank goodness you're alive."

The sentiment was heartwarming if not the friendly voice and the concern contained within it. He'd been long in the company of those with whom he'd rather not consort.

"Yes…I've seen better days," he admitted honestly. Mace didn't ask and Obi-Wan didn't say; debriefing would come later. The mission came first. "I'm here in Theed."

"So Dooku's plan is still on."

"Yes."

"How are they planning to attack the Chancellor?"

"Three of the bounty hunters are disguised as Senate guards," Obi-Wan relayed calmly. "Eval is the getaway driver and there's a Parwan that can get through the ray shield. I have a rifle – don't worry, it's loaded with stun blasts – I'm supposed to immobilize the Chancellor not kill him."

"Where are you?"

"In the tower overlooking the plaza."

"So the attack will take place outside in the plaza."

Obi-Wan agreed. "From here I can be your eyes in the sky; I'll be able to tell you everything going on. They're going to try to get into the security area; make sure you have someone check all the guards' identities."

"That'll take time."

"You'll have to do your best, my friend."

* * *

><p>Theed at dusk was beautiful. The soft shimmer of lights upon the water was reflected and magnified by the somewhat cloudy skies, throwing muted pastel shades of blue, peach and pink to marble the buildings.<p>

It was a night much like the night they had burned Qui-Gon.

The Living Force seemed closer at this hour, Obi-Wan had always thought, a time when stillness and peace were allowed to bloom without interference and without distraction. Many a quiet evening had been spent on a Temple balcony or on some distant planet when the day's duties had given way to await another day. It was soft, like the closing of a flimsiplast book as opposed to the switching off of a datapad. It was fitting, Obi-Wan had thought then and still thought now, that it was at such a time of peace and contentment that Qui-Gon had found eternal rest within the Force; his earthly shell wafting aloft to dance amongst the colorful clouds and the luminous sky. Beauty and sorrow had intertwined then, his heart at temporary ease.

Tonight, he vowed, he would do his best to assure it would be a night of beauty alone. No sorrow would intrude unless the Force willed it – other than the sorrow of a bunch of thwarted bounty hunters. The touch of a dreamer within him was matched by the touch of a realist, with a dash of cynicism thrown in for good measure. He would be satisfied when his recent companions were sent once more to prison; satisfaction was such a soft emotion, much more worthy of a Jedi than more extreme forms of pleasure when contemplating their upcoming incarceration.

He would yield even that simple joy to the Force when next he meditated.

He settled against the stone wall of his perch as the Senate guards led the small procession onto the open platform after all the guests were seated. Ahsoka was keeping close to Queen Neeyutnee and Padmé; no doubt that was Anakin's doing. Obi-Wan quite approved. His keen eyes swept the vicinity and detected no threat as yet as Palpatine stepped to the podium set in the center.

The ray shield was raised but Obi-Wan didn't relax. Whatever was Mace doing, leaving the shield generator practically unguarded? Probably trying to lure the Parwan out, he decided; there was an armed guard nearby but within the shield's perimeter and Anakin, too, was not far away.

Anakin.

A muscle in his jaw tightened as he peered through his scope. He didn't see any bruising on his former padawan's face; the young man seemed no worse for wear.

Palpatine droned on, a standard politician's speech that Obi-Wan ignored even as he ignored the light show, cascades and bursts of light against the deepening sky. While he hoped Mace had managed to validate each guard's identity, he was taking nothing for granted. He had already sensed a weakness in the shadow hologram, a second or so where it faltered and pixilated.

There, he had it! The disguised Derrown was reaching through the platform's balustrade to the ray shield generator from _below_, standing out of sight on what had to be a descending, curving stairway that wrapped below the elevated platform.

He raised his comlink to his lips. "East side, security guard, by the stairs."

He read Mace's lips as the senior Jedi whirled and barked out a command. "Skywalker; the shield generator."

His former padawan was there in a flash, but not quickly enough. The ray shield went down in an explosion of sparks; the shock wave sent Anakin sprawling while Palpatine stumbled and fell. Mace was immediately at the Chancellor's side, barking out orders to two guards and pointing to a speeder, no doubt ordering them to remove him to a safe place. Ahsoka was taking charge of the Queen and Senators in attendance, quickly herding them back into the palace.

Anakin hurdled the balustrade, lightsaber ablaze and whirling in a mad cacophony of light, easily batting away blaster bolts. He was battling alone, but one Anakin was worth several Jedi. Obi-Wan could only see bits and pieces of the fight from his angle, until the end: there was no way of missing the electric arcs stiffening Anakin's body as Derrown's tentacles shocked him.

He couldn't even waste a breath on sympathizing with his padawan although he well knew from personal experience the gut-wrenching pain of the convulsions grasping Anakin's nerves and muscles. Instead, he would end it.

Apparently Derrown was more interested in escape than frying Anakin; for he zoomed into the air. First things first. Obi-Wan drew a bead on his flightpack and fired, took a second shot and realized he was out of shots. "Blast," he allowed the mild curse to leave his lips, although at least his first shot was sufficient to down the Parwan and spoil his escape. He then did a quick visual of the entire platform as he informed Mace, "Anakin's down and I don't see Bane anywhere."

_Oh, oh_. Almost as soon as Mace stood up and moved away, Obi-Wan could see the tell tale shimmer and realized both guards were bounty hunters.

In disguise as a Neimoidian dignitary, Bane watched with unalloyed glee as a shadow matrix was pressed against the fallen Chancellor, transforming him into one of the guards. Embo then transformed from a guard to the Chancellor and slung his arm around Twazzi as a "guard" led the shaken "Chancellor" away.

That left the field clear for Bane to easily approach the "guard" and drag the Chancellor away.

Double twist and win. The plan was executed to perfection so far.

"The Chancellor: the guard escorting him is a bounty hunter," Ob-Wan barked as he kept watch from afar. Reacting to the urgency in his voice, Mace and Anakin rushed over, lightsabers pointed before the speeder could pull away. Obi-Wan breathed a sigh of relief. Palpatine rose to his feet and smoothly climbed out of the speeder, brushing down his robes.

Obi-Wan almost smiled; he could almost hear Anakin asking, "Chancellor, are you all right?"

It was only when "Palpatine's" fist collided with Anakin's jaw that all the Jedi realized they'd been had. The Jedi had caught two bounty hunters, so where was the Chancellor?

Obi-Wan caught on first, his suspicion born of deduction confirmed a mere moment later when Eval pulled up in a speeder and the Neimoidian – revealed to be Bane – threw a guard into the rear seat, a guard who had to be a disguised Palpatine. Sure enough, the tell tale flicker of the hologram revealed the kindly, aged face of the Chancellor.

Chagrin and determination flicked across the Jedi's face.

"I'm going after the Chancellor; I'll send you the coordinates and hold Bane there as long as possible." He jumped into a speeder and followed at a discrete distance. As he drew near he heard snippets of the conversation – "Dooku wasn't here," being one of them.

He jumped out and strode over to Eval, Bane and the real Chancellor, keeping silent and in character until forced otherwise.

"Hardeen, you aren't supposed to be here yet," Bane drawled.

"I don't want to be double-crossed and left behind again." His tone was truculent and hard as ice.

Bane eyed him speculatively. "I think we've all been double- crossed; Dooku is a no show. I suggest we ransom him ourselves."

Obi-Wan shook his head in decisive negation. There was no reason not to end this here. Now.

"I'm afraid the Chancellor is coming with me." A blaster emphasized his command. He was just about to step back to give him maneuvering room when Bane nearly flattened him with a sudden surge and pounce. A tight smile pulled up the corner of Obi-Wan's lips. He hadn't started this, but he sure was going to end it. A good old fist fight was just the outlet for the days of tension that had been nibbling at him, still, mindful that a Jedi only fought when necessary, only as hard as necessary, and only as long as necessary, he made sure he fought as a Jedi.

His goal was to take Bane into custody and that was it.

A good blow knocked him back a step, giving Bane room to pull his blaster and fire. Obi-Wan dodged, right, left, grateful to finally call on the Force without hindrance as he closed in on Bane. Just before he reached him, Bane ignited his ankle rockets and arrowed into the air. Obi-Wan leapt and latched on his feet and tugged until he landed on his feet. Gathering himself, he whipped Bane around in a tight circle and whirled him into the ground. Neatly catching the blaster, Obi-Wan aimed it at his erstwhile companion in crime.

Obi-Wan held the two at blaster range until a speeder carrying Anakin and Mace drew up and the two knights jumped out with lightsabers pointed and cocked. Eval collapsed, begging not to be hurt as he put his hands together for Anakin to bind his wrists as a clone trooper took charge of Bane. This wasn't the time to talk, Obi-Wan knew, but he at least wished to catch Anakin's eyes. Just how much condemnation would he see in them? Would there be even a hint of forgiveness?

Yet it seemed neither of them was ready to face the other and the millisecond passed as did the opportunity. Oblivious, Mace dismissed Anakin with a, "Take those two into custody and make sure the Chancellor gets safely back to the palace."

The charade was over, but the consequences – those were still to be faced.

"You did a good job," Mace turned to his fellow Jedi and all but smirked, "Obi-Wan."

"Kenobi; I should have known. Something smelled wrong about you from the start," Bane raved.

"Well, spending so much time with you wasn't much of a reward, either," he returned dryly.

"Reward, I'll give you a reward when I plug you full of blaster bolts…" Obi-Wan raised a brow; Bane was not one to lose it like this, but the Duros was almost frothing at the mouth, swearing vengeance and all sorts of unpleasant things. It left him unmoved, only unutterably weary.

Shaking his head, he turned to Mace. "I hope this was all worth it."

"We saved the Chancellor," Mace reminded him, laying a hand on his shoulder. "That's the important thing."

Yes, yes they had, but at what cost? If the ends ever justified the means, how did one draw the line and where exactly should that line be drawn? To do nothing was unprincipled; to violate one's principles made one no different than the other side.

Obi-Wan wasn't ready to wrestle with that question quite yet.

But it had to be done. Sometime.

* * *

><p>Torn by fierce emotion into a sort of detached disinterest, Anakin held onto a squirming, cowering Moralo Eval while a clone trooper struggled to subdue Cad Bane some yards away.<p>

Here he was once again all but face to face with the hated – the despised – the disguised bounty hunter that he knew intellectually was Obi-Wan Kenobi but looked like Rako Hardeen, the man his heart knew had murdered Obi-Wan.

This man with another man's face and another man's voice truly was his mourned master, his best friend, and his worst deceiver. An enigma and not the sight for sore eyes he had expected to see - the man he had dearly wished to see - because this man was both Obi-Wan Kenobi and yet for all that a stranger; a stranger Anakin _knew_ wearing a stranger's face he did _not_.

With soul rejoicing and heart sorrowing, eyes despite himself sliding sideways to - Obi-Wan, yes, his Force presence undeniable, truly his former master - Anakin could not help but marvel at this somewhat bittersweet not-quite-yet-reunion.

A scene real and surreal all at the same time.

They had foiled the plot to harm the Chancellor; Palpatine was safe – thank the Force – and Obi-Wan, well, he was safe and alive as well, if not exactly _present_ in the flesh as he was in the Force.

_Duty first, right, Master? Set aside my feelings…do my job, pretend I don't care that you are almost within touching distance? That I cried for you and now I don't dare to really look at you because I don't know whether to sock you in the jaw or embrace you?_

He was the man he had wanted so desperately to kill at one time; had come so close to actually killing if not for Cad Bane's interference on Orondia.

What if he had succeeded? The very thought shivered through him and stole his breath, his very capacity to think; everything Anakin had wanted to say, everything he had wanted to hear coalesced into a sort of paralysis of movement and intense anticipation mixed with dread.

Obi-Wan would come to him, wouldn't he, seeking forgiveness that Anakin wasn't sure he could grant because Obi-Wan had _hurt_ him…but Obi-Wan wasn't even looking at him just as he wasn't looking at Obi-Wan, either, not really, because the sideways glances from under lowered lids didn't count as looking but he had to see – and saw: that Obi-Wan's face was not twisted with pain as he had hoped. Remorse, no; regret, none. No furrowed brow, nothing to indicate he even cared what he had put his padawan through.

But Anakin did care and he needed his master to at least acknowledge that.

There! A flicker of a glance, a pause –were Mace and Obi-Wan through speaking?

A small sigh escaped Anakin. So Obi-Wan was not as indifferent as he appeared to be. That had been a minor distraction, and Master Kenobi almost never allowed himself to be distracted.

What would he, should he say to this much mourned master – did Anakin express his happiness and his relief, or did he express his anger and betrayal? Hug or slap the man? Turn a cold shoulder? Paste a friendly, insincere smile on his face? Weep with joy?

All – both – none...?

Surely Obi-Wan knew the protocol for such a situation, didn't he? Obi-Wan knew the protocol for every situation. The Negotiator was always prepared for every eventuality.

Never any unease in his manner; when one looked up the definition of confidence and poise one found a holopic of Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi. So why did Obi-Wan resume his conversation with Mace Windu – why did he seem no more eager to speak to Anakin than Anakin was to speak to him; why were his eyes cast downward and the tips of his fingers curling ever so gently against the palms of his hands?

Was he _waiting_?

Did his master really think his padawan should approach him first with a warm welcome and a friendly slap across the shoulders, a "ha ha" laugh of amusement in accompaniment?

"_Good one, Master, you got me? I cried like a baby, you jokester, you." _

"_Ah, Anakin, glad you're not upset with my fun little charade."_

Fuming, frustrated, even a bit fearful of "this moment" postponed, Anakin was happy to obey Mace's flick of a finger to get the captured bounty hunters back to Theed. As he turned away, he heard the honeyed sweet syrup of congratulations offered to his master – _excuse me, Master Windu, but this was team effort was it not_ – only to narrow his eyes in outrage.

Cad Bane wanted to do _what_ to _whom_?

Well, really. _Listen, Bane – anyone kills my master, it's me. No one else. Anyone else that even tries, I will kill him_. Anakin's death glare apparently did the trick. Bane shut up.

Anakin smiled.


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter 15.**

_We do not learn from our experiences; we learn by reflecting on our experiences."~~ John Dewey_

The easy part was over, Obi-Wan reflected. Next came the hard part – explaining his actions to those whom he had hurt. He would not stoop to justifying or excusing all that he had done – he would leave it up to those he'd harmed to judge his motives.

He didn't regret what he had done. He did regret the consequences to others.

And was unsure of just what those consequences were.

Anakin had not even looked at him. His former padawan could be a simmering cauldron of emotion beneath a superficial shell of calm, like a volcano that appeared to be slumbering only to erupt when internal pressure exceeded external constraints. Anakin's anger was formidable and emotionally scalding to both himself and others.

Anakin was volatile in a way that no Jedi really should be and it was never a secret what he was feeling and usually as well what he was thinking.

This time Obi-Wan was left clueless. For the first time in years he didn't know how best to approach Anakin or if he even should. In one way, both men were alike. Neither liked to discuss things before they were ready, although he had to admit Anakin was usually more than ready to discuss things _right now_ when they bothered him.

Personally, he preferred to think before speaking, contemplate before moving. He'd learned the hard way in his youth the consequences of hasty words and hasty actions, of the folly and unintentional hurt he could inflict on others when moved to speak and to act on emotion rather than common sense or the urgings of the Force.

Force knew how often Qui-Gon had reprimanded him in his early padawan days – not to mention at least a few other times when he should have known better.

_The boy is dangerous – why don't you sense it?_

Obi-Wan winced. Force knows he had been blind to Anakin's presence when _those_ words had so incautiously blurted out of him on the landing platform those years before. Anakin certainly had the potential to be one of the most dangerous men in ages, but then any man had equal potential, he had all too soon learned. He had succumbed to overwhelming rage when Qui-Gon had been killed before his eyes and but for the grace of the Force, he himself could now be lost.

The revered Master Dooku had Fallen and Fallen hard, to rise a Sith.

Anger and fear - any extreme emotion, actually - were and always would be a danger to a Jedi, but if recognized and released as appropriate, none were by themselves dangerous just by existing. It was the embrace of them, more than the reflexive exercise of them that led to a Jedi's Fall.

Anakin's anger, as worrisome as Obi-Wan had often found it, had never yet escaped Anakin's control into far more worrisome action; if he hadn't Fallen yet, most likely he never would. That boy in whom he had seen a dark future was now a young man, a gifted knight who only needed a bit more maturity before he could truly be called the greatest of them all.

In skill, he already was.

Emotionally, he had some way yet to grow, to shed more of the self in subservience to the Force – something Obi-Wan wasn't entirely sure Anakin was ready for as yet – too much of Anakin's past clung to him. Anakin might never become a _good Jedi_ but he might well transcend that into something even better.

Not because of his master, but despite him, Obi-Wan was rather sure.

_What have I done to him, to our relationship_?

Yoda might well say Obi-Wan had finally taught Anakin the danger of attachment. He wasn't so sure though that was what Anakin had learned.

* * *

><p>A demure cough pulled Mace Windu's attention back to Palpatine. Standing patiently off to the side, the Chancellor didn't seem fazed in the least, in fact, he almost seemed amused. One might have thought the actuality of his kidnapping must have shaken him in some way – in his faith in the infallibility of the Jedi if nothing else. At least now the man must take greater heed of potential threats to him and not be so quick to dismiss the Jedi's caution in future.<p>

Or not, Mace amended, as the Chancellor took a step or two forward to a man he had little reason yet to trust with a hearty, "Who is this strapping fellow, Master Windu? Well done, sir, well done. Another Jedi, perhaps?"

Drolly, Mace replied, "Indeed, Chancellor and one you know quite well – Master Kenobi."

Palpatine's eyes widened. "Master Kenobi! Oh, my – my dear man, I'm astonished and delighted. Your death was such a crushing blow to the morale of our Republic. Such subterfuge and on my behalf: I am in your debt." He beamed; then his face fell. "I am afraid, though, this may be difficult to explain to the citizens of our great Republic. They hold the Jedi Order in the utmost respect and I fear some will feel a deep sense of betrayal. A necessary deception, I'm sure, but many in the Senate will not feel the same, however, be assured that I will allow no talk of censure – no, I am most determined on that."

"We'll deal with that when we must," Mace interjected.

"Ah, yes, I'm sure you have prepared well for this. Everyone acted their parts so splendidly, too, why young Anakin totally had me believing he was heartbroken. My pain was greatly magnified by his – he was so loyal to Master Kenobi, so very dedicated that -"

A slight shift in Obi-Wan's position brought Palpatine's eyes to the disguised Jedi master. "No, no, Master Jedi, do not tell me you allowed young Anakin to believe you were truly dead? Why, when he pursued your apparent killer - he might have killed you, Master Kenobi."

"He nearly did, on Orondia," Obi-Wan said quietly. "I had to resort to some rather extreme actions there to preserve both our lives."

The boy had earned his bruises, Mace thought to himself. If he hadn't been so quick to flee Coruscant in pursuit of "Hardeen," Yoda or he would have explained the situation long before. Obi-Wan's cover – even his life – would not have been endangered and neither Anakin nor his young padawan would have been limping back on a barely space-worthy ship.

"Oh, yes. Do not blame yourself, Master Kenobi." The Chancellor laid a hand on Obi-Wan's arm, greatly daring to offer comfort to a Jedi in the presence of another. "His injuries, even if inflicted by you were incurred in the defense of you, in a sense. The poor boy did return alive. I'm sure he's forgiven you."

"He understands Master Kenobi had little choice," Mace returned, laying a hand on his fellow Jedi's shoulder. He had, he admitted, been rather surprised to hear just how understanding Anakin had been when Yoda had told him. Obi-Wan needed to hear that.

He didn't need to hear how Anakin was less understanding about the reason he was excluded from the truth about his master's "death."

Obi-Wan didn't need any more stress at the moment. He was clearly fatigued and the shoulder beneath Mace's hand was stiff and tense. Master and padawan would need to speak – each needed it – but not now, not yet.

Obi-Wan had always understood the necessity; Mace hoped Anakin would as well, no matter how well he seemed to be taking it. He should; the boy was close to Palpatine and there was little he wouldn't countenance to protect those whom he cared about and for. The plot had been foiled, but it had been close. Had not Obi-Wan infiltrated the group – had he not learned of this new device to disguise one's appearance – had not been in a position to commandeer a speeder and follow the kidnappers – well, Mace did not even want to think about those consequences.

Anakin would do well to remember that – and not be too harsh on his master.

Still, looking at the tight skin around Obi-Wan's eyes, the taut mouth, Mace wondered just which one of the two would be the harshest on Obi-Wan – and he suspected it wasn't Anakin.

* * *

><p>Anakin's irritation with Obi-Wan and the Council simmered just beneath his conscious mind, not unlike a speck within an oyster's shell that would in time grow into a lustrous gem – or a terrible stone of deep suspicion and doubt. For now, it was held in check, tempered by sullied joy and unsullied satisfaction that the plot against Palpatine had been foiled even if incompletely. Palpatine should have been protected, entirely; it should never have come to a need to <em>rescue<em> him.

And no thanks to Obi-Wan, who was supposed to have prevented any harm to Palpatine – that was the entire point of inflicting pain on Anakin, was it not?

Still, the Chancellor _was_ safe. Now.

Anakin glowered at the two captives although seated behind him under the watchful gaze of a clone they could not see. How dare they lay a hand on the Chancellor; how dare Bane threaten not just Palpatine, but his master? Obi-Wan. His expression softened a little, then turned into a chuckle and nearly widened into a grin; nearly flip-flopped into a frown. Sullied pleasure, indeed. He was pleased. Wasn't he? Or was he miffed? Conflicting inclinations teased through his mind: to smile and laugh at having Obi-Wan home - or to huff in frustration.

Oh, to kriff with it! He decided to put thoughts of Obi-Wan aside until the time came to confront him, when speech could be honest and un-witnessed, words from the heart and soul and not bound by need to adhere to Jedi serenity.

After all, there were bright sides to this day as he had already observed.

A good day's deed had been accomplished: Palpatine was safe and therefore so was the Republic. Undoubtedly Obi-Wan deserved _some _credit for that although it seemed Mace had given him credit for it all.

_A Jedi craves not awards or recognition_.

Well, Anakin did and why not? Wasn't praise encouragement for the mind and reward food for the soul?

And his reward, he soon saw, was waiting for him: Padmé's smiling face. She stood with Queen Neeyutnee, Sio Bibble and Bail Organa and other assorted dignitaries, all eager to welcome back the Chancellor and congratulate those who saved him.

Yet what need had he of reward or accolades from others when his joy and his life, Padmé was there?

Some, he had to admit; he would always need recognition. He was honest enough with himself to admit that. He thrived on it, at least in part because he did not get enough of it from the Jedi. A job well done was reward enough, or as his former master all too often had said, "The only reward you need is to know within yourself you have done the best you can; what others think does not matter."

Anakin begged to differ. Praise was the grease of friendship and one knew one could never have too much grease if one wished things to work smoothly without sparks or stuck gears.

To the Jedi he had merely done his job; to Padmé and the dignitaries standing with her, he was a hero, not "the hero" but one of the heroes. It was unambiguous and honest gratitude and he would forever stand by his conviction that there was nothing inherently wrong in taking pride in a job well done or desiring recognition for said deeds.

Restraining his answering smile, though not the leap of his heart that always accompanied the sight of her, Anakin stood aligned with Mace Windu and Palpatine. Obi-Wan hung back a few feet. Was he ashamed? Well, let him stew in his shame for a while; he earned it.

Forget Obi-Wan, he scolded himself. Enjoy the moment.

Padmé stepped forward to extend the official thanks on all their behalf. "Once again you all have again distinguished yourselves in the service of the Republic and the people of Naboo are in your debt."

Anakin took it upon himself to reply, all but waving her praise aside in an outer show of humility. "It's all part of the job, m'lady."

Of course, everyone smiled at everyone else, well, everyone except Mace Windu and possibly Obi-Wan. He didn't bother to check, he was too busy exchanging generic smiles of simple friendliness with Padmé although their eyes said much more. Tonight, their eyes promised, they would find time to be husband and wife. Slipping quietly through the night from one room to another was child's play for a Jedi. With the promise unspoken between them, a promise of release from all his concerns into only his concern and love for Padmé, Anakin resolved to speak to Obi-Wan now. If all went well, it would be behind him and if it did not – well, the night would be sure to take some of the sting away.

Yes, this was probably a good time to speak to Obi-Wan; it could not be postponed forever.

He was feeling a bit magnanimous now and Obi-Wan wouldn't be Obi-Wan if he didn't defer to the Council, always suspecting their collective wisdom exceeded his own. Much as he hated – despised – what his former master had put him through emotionally, his mentor, his friend, had returned from the dead.

He would speak with him, he decided, as soon as feasible.

The formalities complete, the group turned and walked back to the palace, Mace at Palpatine's side, the others spread out before and behind. After a moment, Mace said, "I'm not sure I agree with your decision to send the rest of your security detail back to Coruscant."

"Now that the threat is past, I think Anakin is all the security I need," the Chancellor replied smoothly.

A few steps behind and within hearing, Anakin smiled; the Chancellor's trust was reassuring, especially now. He dropped back to walk with a pensive Obi-Wan, though he had trouble associating this face with the man he knew so well – or had thought he had known so well.

"You look terrible," he ventured. Obi-Wan half glanced at him and grunted, before muttering, "Being a criminal is not easy work."

_What about deceiving your padawan; was that easy or hard? _

Not knowing what else to say, how to start this conversation, he went with the familiar.

"If I'd known what was going on, I could have helped you. Too bad the Council didn't trust me." He slowed his pace; then paused mid-step at the realization that Obi-Wan had not kept pace with him and was not throwing back his customary response.

With a heavy sigh, Obi-Wan advanced and laid a hand on Anakin's shoulder, giving it a familiar and quick squeeze before letting go almost as if he felt he no longer had the right. "Anakin. It was my decision to keep the truth from you. I knew if you were convinced I was dead, Dooku would believe it as well."

"Your decision?" Anakin turned and stared, really stared as his heart dropped into his throat. Obi-Wan's decision? Not the Council's?

Obi-Wan almost couldn't look him in the eyes, his shoulders slumping as he shook his head, his voice about as agitated as Anakin had ever heard it. "I know I did some questionable things but I did what I had to do. I hope you can understand that."

* * *

><p>Obi-Wan finally met Anakin's eyes. It was probably not the best explanation or the best apology, but this venue was too public anyway. He meant to wait but had found he could not; he had to air this before the guilt corroded his insides, while he had the courage to make his confession.<p>

He did not get the understanding he had hoped for; he got what he expected and deserved: an angry finger jabbing at his face and a quietly furious Anakin.

"You lied to me. How many other lies have I been told by the Council? And how do you know you even have the whole truth?"

Anakin spun on his heel and walked away.

Obi-Wan looked down, unsure and uncertain. Angry Anakin he could handle, fiery words and Huttese curses. This cold fury went far beyond his experience; this was pain mixed with anger. He had no words to fix this. He deserved every bit of Anakin's scorn; he had even expected it. But now that it had come, it stung – stung far harder than he had expected it to. It was like a fresh wound in a heart that barely had time to heal from all the wounds preceding it. He had never felt so weary, so drained, so used in a long, long time.

He watched as the others – as Anakin – walked away, then turned and walked, alone on his own solitary path to wherever his feet led him; shoulders slumped under the weight of all his mistakes and burdens.

Alone, perhaps as he deserved to be; penance and punishment both.


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter 16.**

_We imagine that we want to escape our selfish and commonplace existence, but we cling desperately to our chains.__**Anne Sullivan Macy**__  
><em>

_It was Obi-Wan's idea to deceive me! Obi-Wan's – not the kriffin' Council's idea, but Obi-Wan's! Mr. I'll-shade-the-truth-but-never-lie Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi out and out _lied_ to me. To me! I thought he trusted me; Force knows I trust him._

Nothing, Anakin feared, would lessen his irritation – no, anger, at Obi-Wan, at the Order, at the casual and unapologetic way both used him – but since now was not the time to let it explode into its inevitable conflagration, he would sublimate it by switching his focus from his betrayal to his beloved.

They were, after all, on Naboo and Anakin did not wish to sully the memories of laughter and love associated with this planet where he had first met and later wed his angel.

Nothing else mattered when she was near; the very sight of her was intoxicating and soothing both, the softness of her skin against his fingertips when his hand stroked her face in joyous reunion or the curve of her lips when she smiled at that same touch always awakened an aching need to bury all that he was within the splendor that was she – to be transformed from a man worn with cares and sorrow into a man that was young and vibrant with life and laughter.

To be a man who was free to be himself, not constrained by _duty_ and _obligation_ into something confining; to be Anakin Skywalker and only Anakin Skywalker.

Separation from Padmé, from who he was into what he was, was just one more thing to resent the Jedi for: separation deepened the holes in his very spirit and drained him of his life essence. It was because he was so often separated from her that he needed her so desperately when she was near. The Jedi would never understand that depriving him of Padmé was like depriving a man parching in the heat from the essence that could save him.

Instead, the Jedi preached of detachment and cool regard, of strangling the passion within by subservience to duty.

"Your padawan did a masterful job of protecting us all, Master Skywalker." Padmé winked at Anakin and laid a hand on the Togrutan's shoulder as the various dignitaries regrouped in one of the palace's reception rooms.

Anakin grinned. "She's a good padawan now that I've smoothed over some of her rough spots. I'm proud of you, Snips."

"Thanks, Master," Ahsoka chirped. "Did you – ah…?" She fell silent as Anakin's eyes froze. Carefully, he unclenched his fists and forced an insincere grin on his face, one that fooled neither female but preserved the air of civility in the room.

"Not yet, Padawan; m'lady, if you'll walk with me… Stay here and mingle, Ahsoka, okay?" Anakin offered his arm to Padmé and escorted her into the fresh air and relative privacy of a small balcony where he could unobtrusively slid his hand into her air and lean in a little close – far enough to back away if anyone intruded, near enough to breath in her perfume.

Oh, he ached for her in a way he couldn't satisfy other than in private. He longed to have her in his arms, under him, over him, around him in a union that shrunk the universe until all that existed was them and their love, a purity of affection uncontaminated by the flotsam and debris of the universe outside their boundaries. Padmé's hair would be unbound, cascading over her shoulders like a veil that was his to penetrate with a soft sweep of his fingers and gentle kisses until lovers' ecstasy made of them the entirety of the universe that ever was and ever would be.

Padmé was his refuge and his life; before her he didn't exist and after her he would cease to exist. There was no death and no deception, no pain and no betrayal in their private universe and Force, how he needed to exist there now, there, where there was no Obi-Wan Kenobi nor Rako Hardeen, no Sith, and no Jedi Council.

Only perfection and perfect love.

"What is it, Anakin?" Attuned as always to her husband, aware of every tense muscle, every twitch of his lips, even the rough edge of his breathing, Padmé put one hand on his chest and leaned back, studying his eyes in concern. "You look like the feline who swallowed a canary and found it unpalatable. Did Master Windu take all the credit for saving the Chancellor?"

Anakin frowned, tried on a grin, and then shrugged knowing he was stuck in this universe for now, like it or not. "Not all, no, he shared the credit, just not with me. He was too busy congratulating - Obi-Wan." His eyes slid sideways to her face; had Ahsoka had a chance to rat on Obi-Wan or was she leaving it to him?

"They never give you the credit you deserve - wait, Obi-Wan! _Obi-Wan_?" Anakin almost couldn't help smiling at Padmé's simple astonished delight. "That – man – that was Obi-Wan? Oh, Anakin – you – you -" He could see the realization dawn in her eyes; her hand flew to her mouth to cover the escaping mixture of giggle and horror. "The man you threw into prison was your own master; the man you chased half way across the galaxy was Obi-Wan?"

He nodded.

"Wait a minute; he's the one who did this?" Padmé gently touched his cheek, the now faded spot no longer tender and sore. Anger and disbelief were working into her expression now, outrage would follow shortly if it followed Anakin's own emotional path.

* * *

><p>Padmé drew in a deep breath as she sought the truth to be found in her husband's eyes. She felt much as Anakin looked, happy and yet so terribly unhappy at one and the same time.<p>

Once again her fingers sought his face and traced his cheekbone, his lip, then gently touched one eye. There had been tears there, days before. How could Obi-Wan have willingly abused her husband's heart like this?

Anakin grabbed her fingers and kissed them, almost giddy with relief and joy. "He's alive, Padmé, he's alive." He took a deep breath and scrubbed a hand over his face; suddenly his eyes were shining. So mercurial, her husband, upset a moment ago and now – he was as delirious as a child discovering a new toy. He was still that boy she had found huddled in the cold as they left Tatooine, heartbroken one moment at leaving his mother and giddy with excitement the next as he told her "I'm going to be a Jedi and be a hero who frees all the slaves and then I'm going to fly to every planet in the sky."

"As furious as I am at him, to know he was standing there, alive and breathing, right beside me – I couldn't be furious with him, not then. Later, later I laid into him pretty brutally. I couldn't believe it was _his_ idea – I wanted – I wanted – oh, I don't know what I wanted to do to him when he told me it was his idea. I was furious with him, I still am, but, oh, Padmé," his eyes were bright with tears, happy tears about to transform into tragic tears. "How can I be so happy he's alive while at the same time I want to kill him?"

Indignation flamed to fury; now it was she who was enraged, as if they were trading emotions between them.

"It was Obi-Wan's idea to deceive you?" Padmé leaned forward and rested her forehead against her husband's; her arms went around his waist. "Oh, Anakin: what a horrible, cruel thing to do, to you, especially. I thought Obi-Wan truly cared for you; that he was a good friend who would rather fall on his lightsaber than hurt you."

The indignation and empathetic pain of a wife arose like a hot tide: no matter she considered Obi-Wan an old acquaintance, a friend even – no, right now he was a man who had harmed her Anakin, probably congratulating himself on a job well done no matter who was harmed. How dare Obi-Wan – didn't he know Anakin thought of the older Jedi as his father, as his brother? Family did not deceive family. Family stood together against deceit. Obi-Wan had perpetuated deceit against his own brother.

What reason could there be, except -

_Jedi: they're heartless, soulless automatons who will not allow common decency to stand in the way of their duty_.

She'd always considered those who spouted such sentiments to be ignorant folks who had never met a Jedi in person, but now – now she wondered just who was ignorant. As a politician she knew truth was often concealed behind facades, but she had never ascribed such to the Jedi. But truly, she knew little of the Jedi; Anakin did.

Perhaps there was more truth in Anakin's past complaints than she had thought, thinking them to be exaggerations, creations born of frustration more than reality.

After years of wondering if Obi-Wan had shed his humanity or merely buried it, of hoping to see the man behind the cloak and now, by proxy, having done so, she found the truth far from her liking.

Had not Obi-Wan intervened between Anakin and her, claiming she was a distraction that a Jedi could not afford? Had he not denied Anakin the chance to love and be loved as he deserved, to tear him away from her loving arms to live a sterile existence; a man who tried to squeeze Anakin into the same mold as he, a Jedi? Had he not sought to stifle the humanity within each of them, extolling the virtue of principles that in practice were cold and uncaring to serve some esoteric purpose of nebulous "goodness"?

Her arms tightened around her husband. Anakin was warm and loving; his humanity intact. She was glad, so very glad, that the Jedi - that Obi-Wan - hadn't succeeded in creating a _proper Jedi_ out of a man.

Anakin stiffened in her arms, but didn't pull away. The soft breath of his words tickled at her neck, pained words of a man trying to persuade himself of a truth he did not believe. "Obi-Wan only did what he had to do - for Palpatine; for the Republic."

"You're not saying what he did was right." She lifted a hand to slide through his hair, to rest on the back of his neck.

"No, I'm not," he said after a moment's hesitation. "And I can't say what he did was wrong – other than lying to me. He should not have lied to me; he should have trusted me. All these years…I thought he trusted me."

Padme's heart wept once more. Her Anakin's bedrock was revealed to be nothing more than a cracked and imperfect pebble, a larger than life statue revealed to have feet of clay. Because for all that Anakin had railed against the Jedi in Obi-Wan, Anakin had counted on it, known the Jedi would not let him down.

And thought Obi-Wan, the man, would not as well.

Now he knew better.

"Talk to him, Ani."

"No, I can't." His anguish was palpable. "I should forgive him; I don't want to forgive him. He deceived me, Padmé. And even if it was for the greater good – how can I forgive him?"

What could she say to that? Nothing. But she could offer comfort. She lifted her face and kissed him as her fingers continued to comb through his hair. As always, when they were alone, Anakin's breathing quickened. When he was lost in her, he didn't hurt. She knew that and counted on that. They could so easily slip away and find a truly private place where there was no reason for them to be disturbed.

Her husband could use a distraction and Force knew they didn't get enough time alone.

The war – and Obi-Wan – saw to that.

"He raised me, Padmé."

Her fury subsided under the unspoken plea. She was perhaps too harsh on Anakin's master; that bond was stretched and twisted but not severed. Obi-Wan's behavior was reprehensive; the man himself – well, he was –

"He's a good man, Padmé."

"No, no, Anakin…"

"He is. He had a reason; what he thought was a good reason and I know he didn't want to hurt me. But he did and I don't know if - I can ever trust him again, no matter the reason. But I do know, Padmé, he is a good man. I've been at his side too long to doubt that."

If Anakin could believe, so could she. For each hurt Obi-Wan had dealt Anakin, he had soothed others. There was true affection in their teasing and banter; each had saved the other too many times to count - well, Anakin kept count. Gleefully; tossing it in Obi-Wan's face every chance he got, reveling in the fast and furious counter-offensive listing every so-called "reckless" action of Anakin.

And she remembered her own childish arguments and snits; the tragic renunciation of the bonds of sisterhood that somehow miraculously healed within days.

Oh, yes, the deepest hurts came from loved ones.

With that realization, she found she could accept the truth, though she was not quite ready to relinquish her anger – not yet, but she would silence it, for Anakin's sake. He needed this friendship almost as much as he needed her love. And the truth was she did like Obi-Wan. She admired his devotion to duty except when duty came ahead of his padawan or even himself. So she could be happy to hear he was alive.

Still, she would try to help Anakin to forgive him. Not for Obi-Wan's sake, no, but for Anakin's.

Anakin's heart could not heal otherwise.


	17. Chapter 17

**Please note I revised the prior chapter.**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 17<strong>.

_To regret deeply is to live afresh. ~~ Henry David Thoreau_

Sour notes of distress bled tiny rivulets into the Force. Skywalker! Mace blew his exasperation away. It was not unexpected. The boy was too attached to people, even now. Obi-Wan had known that, too; had known the pain his deception would cause in his former padawan. But unlike the latter, the former had been Jedi enough to release his attachment for the betterment of the many – at the cost of some.

In so doing, he had inflicted pain on others – and on himself, as well. They didn't speak of it, but Mace well knew the carefully concealed turmoil within his fellow master.

_We are servants of the Force_.

Dutifully, Obi-Wan had followed the path laid out before him – to save one and through him many - he had had to sacrifice his former padawan's peace of mind. Not happily, but willingly, because he knew that no man's desire should ever outweigh the need of the Force – what was a man but one speck in the cosmos against the all encompassing Force? So a Jedi could and would sacrifice whatever was required of him, be it peace of mind, happiness, comfort and relationships. Even his own safety or even, sometimes, that of others – up to and including the ultimate sacrifice – of life itself.

A Jedi did not demand of the Force, a Jedi accepted the demands of the Force. Skywalker – fought to impose his demands onto the Force, elevating his desires and wishes above all else.

A son of the Force he almost assuredly was; yet he denied its supremacy when obedience would bring hurt. Sacrifice – no, Skywalker could never sacrifice what meant little or a lot to him; willing he might be to sacrifice his very life – for Obi-Wan, for the galaxy at large, even for Balance – if the Force required it of him, but no other, not when he himself lived. Not life, not friendship, not one damn thing that would hurt.

Because Skywalker was still much as he was when he came to them; a Jedi in skill but a mere man emotionally, still immature in many ways, if not in all ways. Kenobi's fault or the boy's, Mace wasn't sure and wasn't sure there was a simple answer. Perhaps it was the boy's connection to the Force itself, as it often had been with Qui-Gon Jinn. A deep affinity to the living Force created many problems, laudable though the connection might be. The Force resonated through his bones and spoke to his untamed heart; Skywalker _felt_ the Force but heard it not – for only his heart was open, not his ears and mind.

And therein lay the problem.

Skywalker was so strong that the boy could often wrest his will against its will - and win - and thus had come to believe himself the equal of the Force, its partner and not its instrument with the power and the will to direct it as _he_ had need and wish.

And when he failed to impose his desire he laid the blame at the feet of others, for surely the Force would not deny him, no, failure must be imposed from outside, a constraint that those less talented, less powerful, less imaginative – less tuned to the pulse of each tiny heartbeat and soft breath of air that powered the force – stole from him with petty inconsequence and heedless incomprehension of the true purpose of his – and their – heritage.

For Skywalker was still in the grip of fear, of loss's potential. Pain was irretrievably bound with loss. And he could not bear pain, of others or himself. He had not yet learned that loss passed into quiet acceptance and from there into serenity because loss and pain were just as inevitable as any other part of life and not to be circumvented by mere desire.

Such was the lesson of the Force to its devoted students, lessons lost on one who didn't seek to learn but only to master.

Surely of all people, the boy's master had known this, should have taught this, but no – this lesson had to be taught by life itself, by loss itself. Mere words could never soak so deep into understanding; example and experience were the only instructors. It was a lesson any padawan should have learned before becoming a knight, or not long after as with Obi-Wan.

Speaking of the man, where was Kenobi? Mace hadn't seen him since the landing field…right, Skywalker had dropped back to speak to him – then shot ahead of them all like a man barely restraining himself from bursting with a scowl bigger than his Force talents – and, oh, kriff.

Kriff! Had the two already had it out – now – when it would have been best to speak after a period of reflection?

_Serenity_, Mace growled, _serenity_, as he took off to find his wayward colleague.

* * *

><p>When comfort was elusive, duty filled the void. When there were no answers, it was time to seek out the questions. When bad feelings churned his stomach, it was time to engage his mind.<p>

All could be found at the tactical display – solitude notwithstanding.

Obi-Wan was unsettled by Anakin's accusation, rattled, even. He did not doubt the Force, ever, but he could doubt himself, his understanding of its promptings. Obi-Wan knew he was fallible, as all men were, as all Jedi were – he especially had always been prone to filter his perceptions through the lens of his humanity. _Seek understanding through your heart more, your mind less_, Qui-Gon had all too often counseled. _Seek counsel from the Living Force; the future is a web of constantly weaving strands of possibilities that can only entrap and neuter one from the needs of the moment, the individual._

Had he done wrong? Done right, but at a terrible cost to one if not to the greater good?

Had sentiment blinded him to the pain his actions would cause – or had sentiment clouded his heart when it was the Force, not his heart, that should guide him? _The path of a Jedi is not an easy path._

"No, Master, it is not." He spoke to a memory, he spoke to the Force.

Sunk within the Force and submerged within thought, Obi-Wan leaned with hands splayed over the hologram table, his mind far away to the days when the Force was a source of delight and joy, before it had become a stern taskmaster and dedicating himself to its service was seen as something filled with purpose and reward. What had changed – the demands of the Force or something within himself? Once upon a time the Jedi solved problems and resolved disputes. Now it seemed all their efforts were for naught – they resolved nothing and brought no peace.

How long had it been since they'd left nothing but good in their wake? He couldn't remember.

He scrubbed his face as if scrubbing would wipe away the hollowness slowly eating away within him, devouring what – his heart? His conscience? His moral compass and his commitment to do what was right, not expedient? Why could the Force not show them a solution to the endless battles and the never-ending pain? When could the Force's light triumph over the darkness and the Jedi be once again its servants and not its warriors?

In his heart of hearts, the Jedi knew the answer, but the man was not satisfied with it: In its own time, if it was to be, if they were ever again to be. For now all he could do was wait for he could no longer dream. That hurt, perhaps, most of all. He would accept that, because he could never be just a man. He was Jedi and even if it should kill something within him, he would always be – even its sacrifice if it ever so requested.

"We should get you into that transformation chamber; everyone's tired of looking at that ugly face of yours."

Pulling himself together upon hearing Mace's voice – and recognizing the apparent insult for the teasing it was by the sonorous tones and could that be a hint of affectionate amusement as well- Obi-Wan straightened and managed a wry grin. "This is the face that saved the Republic. But I think you're right," _I know you're right. _He turned away to hide a wince. "It's time to go back to being Obi-Wan Kenobi."

Would that be his salvation, would that stop this slow rot? He wasn't sure of anything at the moment. Just because he looked like Rako Hardeen, he had never really stopped being Obi-Wan Kenobi, had he?

"I can sense something is still bothering you." There was no doubting Mace's concern this time; warmth flowed his way ready to settle like a blanket around his troubled shoulders, proving once more that the Jedi master known as the terror of the padawans and disciplinarian of the Council was far more than he usually allowed himself to outwardly appear. So it was that Obi-Wan understood that underlying the words was a simple invitation: _Unburden yourself_.

_I cannot_, Obi-Wan's spirit whispered in regret, subtly withdrawing into the privacy of self.

The younger Jedi's fingers tightened on the table before him as he bowed his head, shoulders tautening and knuckles whitening. Mace and Yoda, strong and stalwart both, they were the already too heavily burdened backbones of the Council and of the Order. They carried now the war and the Republic as well. No, it was not fair to lighten his worries by adding to theirs; even if shared, his would not dissipate. His burdens were his own; the consequences of his actions his own as well. To spare them, he would have to be more careful about bleeding his doubts into the Force.

"Yes," Obi-Wan admitted at last. "Something Anakin said – do we know the whole truth? I think - I'll stay…I need to check one last thing." He straightened decisively. If he was going to mope, it certainly wouldn't be now.

For something niggled at him and he trusted his instincts, in this at least.

* * *

><p>"Of course." Mace inclined his head and headed for the exit but once there he stopped and swiveled, a slight frown on his face. His friend was troubled, so much so that he had all but shied away from the senior Jedi's offer to listen to his troubles. Let Yoda assert all he wished that Ob-Wan's greatest flaw was his attachments. Mace suspected it was a not-to-be shaken conviction that he could not rely on anything but the Force itself for support when he was troubled. Even after his relationship with Qui-Gon had eased into the partnership that many envied, those early and harsh lessons had stayed with the younger man.<p>

That lesson had been inadvertently reinforced when Qui-Gon spoke for Anakin while Obi-Wan was yet his apprentice. That breach may have been mended, but even healed wounds echoed and stirred from unconscious memory: wounds as well as triumphs of the past helped shape the present and the future both. No matter what Qui-Gon Jinn had always advocated, one could never live entirely in the now, immune to that which had already come to be.

Mace hesitated, debating his next move. Had he not come here with the express purpose of seeing that Obi-Wan was not left all alone to brood in isolation?

He almost went back, but it was not the Jedi way. Solace was best sought from the Force and from self-reflection; no doubt Obi-Wan needed some time to reconcile his time undercover with his natural inclinations. He had always preferred quiet introspection as his first step towards understanding and acceptance, even when young, and there was no doubt in Mace's mind how difficult this assignment had been on his fellow councilman. Obi-Wan was more than just a good Jedi, he was a good man. Portraying an amoral criminal had required full commitment to the role, something naturally repugnant to a man such as he.

Very well, then. Mace nodded to himself. As soon as they returned to Coruscant he was going to order Obi-Wan to take a week's leave and get himself in hand.

He wished he could do the same for half the Order. The physical and mental demands were taxing, even with the Force to soothe away the pains and exhaustion. Underneath it all they were men and women, luminous beings enclosed in all too mortal bodies.

They could be pushed too far.

They couldn't afford to have Kenobi break. He'd even send Skywalker with him for the two to work out their differences, but the Chancellor seemed determined to keep Anakin by his side.

A frown stole across the Jedi master's face, less than a scowl because it was tinged with incomprehension. Why was Palpatine so enamored with Skywalker? He would never understand politicians or their motivations –it was a miracle the Republic could function at all with them running things – still, the alternatives were far worse.

Democracy, for all its flaws, trumped any other form of government.


	18. Chapter 18

**Chapter 18.**

_I am imagination. I can see what the eyes cannot see. I can hear what the ears cannot hear. I can feel what the heart cannot feel. __**Peter Nivio Zarlenga**_

Casting all distractions aside; Obi-Wan tuned in to his instincts and the subtle promptings of the Force. In this moment, he was again and only Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi – not the general, not the negotiator, and most certainly not the weary, almost disillusioned man who trod on the edge of exhaustion.

Something was off.

Dooku. His uneasiness centered on Dooku – and his absence from the rendezvous. His eyes narrowed. Could it be –?

As quickly as he could make his way there, Obi-Wan took off for the tower where he had kneeled with his sniper scope truly believing he had been stationed there to down the Chancellor. But now he doubted. Stun bolt or actual bolt wasn't the issue; _one_ bolt was one part of the issue.

Only one.

And Dooku was the other.

As convoluted as the plan executed had been, what if the very complexity had been part of the deception itself? The _what-ifs_ ran through his mind even as he ran towards his would-be assassin's perch. One bolt – the Chancellor – Dooku. Complexity, that which obscured and obscured in mists of deception. Oh what a fool he was, they all were. He knew before he found it that evidence there would be – but he hoped to find it, anyway. A man drowning in self-doubt and dismal reflection needed outside confirmation.

Obi-Wan kneeled beside his discarded sniper rifle and carrying case. _One blaster charge. No Dooku. Cross and double cross – or a change in plans? _

His fingers traced around the edges of the case, probed, and found something that should not be there. Stang! A listening device. It had been a set up all right – Dooku had suspected, if not actually known, that "Hardeen" was an imposter.

_Stang!_

_I should have killed the guards – I should have challenged Dooku – _his mind skittered to a horrified halt._ Kriffin' Sith hells, what am I saying? If you betrayed yourself, it wasn't by valuing their lives above your own; it is now you are betraying yourself by such unworthy thoughts. Force, forgive me those words – I have shamed you and my honor both._

Oh Force. He was mentally blabbering on like an idiot. Obi-Wan wiped a hand across his brow. He was exhausted and Force knew he hadn't half a clue what was going on in a part of his mind, the part that was upset at the moment. He sank onto his heels and released his remorse and weariness into the Force, drew its strength into him.

And he knew.

Palpatine was not safe. The real abduction was now underway. He reached for his comlink – Dooku's comlink - and discovered it no longer worked and his own – that one he had left behind when he had left Obi-Wan Kenobi behind to become his killer.

_Master Kenobi, I should bust you back to initiate for this_!

He ran, all exhaustion forgotten.

* * *

><p>Anakin's still simmering resentment evaporated under the unadulterated approval of the Chancellor. Normal people did not dole out emotions in carefully measured increments, fearful of giving too much. They gave joyfully, from the heart. They did not believe positive emotions corrupted, nor, for that matter, negative ones.<p>

To deny emotions were to deny life itself.

Too bad all the Jedi cared about was affirming the Force, not themselves or others, for were they not created to be the selves they were by the Force?

"Anakin, I'm sorry –" at the questioning look in Anakin's eyes, Palpatine smiled sadly. "I'm sorry that your Order does not give you the same trust that I do – that you have earned."

"I…," he hesitated.

A warm, paternal hand settled on his shoulder. "You were lied to, my boy, I know. I appreciate your unwillingness to say anything against the Order, against your former master as well – and that is to your credit. It is a shame they don't realize what a treasure they have in you."

Anakin squirmed inwardly. "They did what they thought necessary to save your life, Chancellor. I may disagree – hate – how they chose to do so, but I cannot fault them for their motive."

Palpatine sighed. "Nor can I, I must admit. On my behalf, I suppose I am most grateful but I would almost rather lose my life than to have you so hurt and betrayed."

The protest was automatic and horrified. "Don't say that, Chancellor. Your life is one I value far above my own. I would do anything…" _Anything_? _Fierfek!_ Fierfek; he didn't want to begin to understand Obi-Wan's decision because, damn it, to understand it would be the first step to accepting it. He hated the consequences of that decision with every fiber of his being. He hated the lies and the deceit; he hated the pain that still haunted him. He still felt used and betrayed. But what were his feelings compared to Palpatine's very life?

Had he not agreed with Captain Tarkin not so long ago that the Jedi weren't prepared to do what was necessary to win the war? That scruples stood in the way? Scruples could have allowed Palpatine's death! He should be applauding Obi-Wan's deception.

He would be, if the deception had not involved Obi-Wan and himself.

Fierfek!

His fingers twitched, torn between strangling Obi-Wan or strangling himself.

"Without you, my boy, I'm not sure I would still be here. I am very grateful to you." Palpatine beamed. "We will leave as soon as Queen Neeyutnee's banquet is over; I shall wish to say goodbye to Senator Amidala as well; she has been a most gracious host."

Banquet? A slight frown wrinkled Anakin's brow. "Padmé did not mention a banquet to me."

"Perhaps she meant it as a surprise; in fact, the invitation was extended most hurriedly and apologetically by another," Palpatine soothed. "I must say the lengths the Jedi will go to is nothing short of incredible. I assume the brilliant plan to disguise Obi-Wan Kenobi was yours?"

A bitter snort escaped Anakin. "No, it wasn't; I was just as much in the dark as you were."

"Really." Palpatine stopped short and glanced at Anakin, gently sympathetic and apparently slightly miffed on his young friend's behalf. "Interesting. I thought the Jedi believed in teamwork."

_I thought so, too_.

Anakin grimaced; maybe he was understanding but he wasn't yet accepting, his doubts not yet assuaged. "Apparently what they say has little relevance to what they do –" he stopped short as the door opened to his push. The room was empty – except sitting in the chair at the head of the table was – Count Dooku.

"Welcome," the Count intoned genially, arms crossed.

"Gracious, it's a trap."

_Obi-Wan; you didn't warn us of this!_ Anakin breathed out his annoyance; right now his focus was protecting the Chancellor, not worrying about the utter inadequacy of the Jedi's security precautions. Once again, it was up to him to save the day. He grinned ferociously. Good thing he was up to the task. He thrust Palpatine behind him, towards the now shut doorway.

Two magnaguards stepped up and grabbed Anakin by the elbows. "Ow," he growled, shocked by one's electrostaff, though he shook free quickly and took a stance against the traitorous former Jedi. Righteous indignation and determination infused the finger stabbed at the man's face; a physical exclamation point to his spat, "You should have quit while you were still alive, Dooku."

"Fighting off the entire Jedi security force would have been difficult, but now that they have gone," Dooku slowly stood and ignited his lightsaber, a smirk on his face, "defeating you should be an easy task."

Wiping smirks off faces was Anakin's specialty. His grin widened as he suddenly ignited his own lightsaber and engaged the two droids. Thrusting, whirling, ducking - a few slashes and cuts and Anakin demolished the two without breaking a sweat.

"Get out of here Chancellor."

As Palpatine faintly agreed with a breathy, "Good idea," and slowly backed up, Anakin sprang upon the table and advanced forward, everything about him menacing and deadly, just daring Dooku to try his best.

Dooku was not intimidated; with a contemptuous sneer he rose to his feet. Anakin lunged and Dooku countered, but Anakin had the upper hand for Dooku slowly retreated before him. Anakin's Djem So was powerful, his blows slamming against Dooku's lightsaber although the Count clung to his one handed Makashi. In a straight up battle, power would overcome finesse, always. Anakin was going to enjoy Dooku's last look, that of defeat and consternation, before the Sith paid for the sins of all the Sith through either humiliated surrender or death.

But Dooku was not going to allow the fight to be a simple fight, a fair fight, for with a gesture of his free hand, he Force hurled a chair, plate setting and even cutlery at the young knight.

Warned by that same Force, Anakin shielded his face with a raised arm, an arm that was pierced by two forks. He snarled, wrenched them out easily and charged, his lightsaber skewering through the chair Dooku raised between them, but Anakin surged forward, struggling against the strong Force repel, only to go hurtling backwards as the strong Force shove temporarily overcame him.

Anakin might be down, but not for long. Before Dooku could advance, Anakin had regained his feet and engaged the count once again, blades crossing, binding, and thrusting.

And again the Count retreated, keeping Anakin at bay and away from Palpatine; the Chancellor in the firm and uncompromising grasp of a magnaguard dragging him out of the room, across a hallway and further - who was being dragged by a droid across a hallway and across the other side to where, Anakin knew, was a landing pad.

Desperation gave Anakin additional strength. He had to save the Chancellor, save his mentor – save the Republic.

His blows rained against Dooku's lightsaber, a thunderstorm of sheer power, so dominating the Count that Dooku never saw nor could avoid the kick that forced him to his knees, parrying equally desperately.

_Got more than you bargained for, Count?_ Unlike Obi-Wan, he plastered his taunts on his face rather than spare the breath to loft them into the air.

Somehow, impossibly, Dooku knocked him aside enough to free his hands and blast Force lightning at Anakin. The Jedi reeled and fell backwards, ricocheted off a pillar and fell to the floor, gasping and trembling.

Eyes watering and ears ringing, nonetheless Anakin heard footsteps pounding towards him as he uncurled and half rose to his feet as whomever it was skidded to a stop and laid a hand on his shoulder. Obi-Wan, or was it Hardeen, no, Hardeen was Obi-Wan and – oh – whatever face he was wearing it was his former master, he could see that now. The light squeeze, that too, only belonged to one man, he'd know that combination of firm and gentle were he blind and deaf.

"Are you all right?"

Fresh strength ran through Anakin – and a desire to avoid appearing weak. "Come on," he snapped impatiently and charged onto the landing pad. Palpatine was already disappearing into the ship; Dooku was on the ramp and with a leap, Anakin was at the foot and battling him.

Only a step or two behind, Obi-Wan engaged the droid that had dropped Palpatine in order to fight beside Dooku. With a few quick swipes and a quick kick, Obi-Wan demolished the droid and leapt up the ramp to grab Palpatine by the waist, swinging them both to safety as the ship slowly pulled away.

Anakin let his relief drop his guard just enough to be pushed off the ramp as the ship took off. With Dooku, alas, but minus Palpatine.

The Chancellor was safe and that - that was the important thing. Not even Dooku's parting words could entirely ruin his satisfaction, although did the Count really have to raise his lightsaber in mocking (to him) salute (to Obi-Wan)?

"Well done, Master Kenobi. You are a worthy adversary; I cannot say the same about your young apprentice."

Yeah, yeah, yeah. Who'd defended the Chancellor? Not Obi-Wan. It was so like his former master to rush in only at the end of the fight and earn the accolades.

And if Padmé and the rest of the arrivals who had rushed in heaped their praise on Obi-Wan, Anakin Skywalker was going to be a very grumpy hero.

"Chancellor, are you all right?" Padme's words were directed at Palpatine; her attention to Anakin.

"Thanks to the heroics of the Jedi." Palpatine straightened his clothing with a bit of a flourish. "This is the second time today." He directed a smile at Anakin. Aha – at least someone knew who had saved whose life.

"We specialize in heroics," Obi-Wan snuck in a response while Anakin basked in the deservedly earned approval. He frowned; then shrugged. Obi-Wan's specialty was words, after all, whilst his was the heroics. Together they were a team. The Team.

Or, at least, had once been.

"As long as I live, no harm will ever come to you, Your Excellency," Anakin vowed.

"Then I am indeed in good hands. One shudders to think what the Republic would be like without the Jedi." Palpatine clapped Anakin on the shoulder and led the small procession back into the palace.


	19. Chapter 19

And so we previously came to the end of the EPISODE but alas - or ahem - or aw shucks - I have my own epilogue. Or two.

Most of you know I post responses over on tf.n regularly, but not here, but after running through your comments and blushing profusely, I have to say THANK YOU so much for all your kind words. Writing is done by the self, for the self, but to be validated by others is the reward for the toil and it is my pleasure that so many of you have found your pleasure in my scribbling.

To answer just a few questions from here and there: much of the dialogue was taken from the episodes and I didn't deviate much from the action, even if I didn't quite "understand" the choices made. Motivations and psychological aspects were all my own, though, and the Kadavo/Zygerria stuff refers back to prior TCW episodes. I really am in a bit of a writing drought: my plots (what I call 'em, anyway) are my big weaknesses and I've got several stories stuck for years in search of a coherent plot to hang the words on. For those following EJC it WILL be completed, but I rather wrote myself into a hole with a sequel partially done and not adhering well to published EJC material. Personal life (unemployment going on 3/4 of a year) is not helping, either.

Again, thanks so much, and here's an epilogue.

* * *

><p><strong>Epilogue 1<strong>

_I am better able to imagine hell than heaven; it is my inheritance, I suppose_. **Elinor Wylie**

"Well, I see the ugliness within has transformed the outer man to match," an icy voice snapped.

Obi-Wan stiffened. On his way to meet Mace, his mind on the painful yet much desired transformation ahead, he had paid little attention to his surroundings and was taken by surprise. Oh, this was not good. He had not the wits nor the strength to face the Duchess of Mandalore, not at this moment, but what could not be avoided must as always be endured.

He slowly pivoted, hiding his consternation.

"M'lady." He bowed before her, suddenly and acute aware that he did not know just what she knew and how long she had been privy to the information – surely she was aware of his transformation about the same time she had been appraised of his so-called death. Wasn't she?

Satine was not impressed.

"Obi-Wan Kenobi or do my eyes deceive me?" Her voice dripped with rare contempt. His uneasiness increased. "Oh, pardon me; the deception is on your part alone, is it not?"

Obi-Wan raised a hand to massage his forehead. "What would you have me say, Satine? I'm a Jedi; I'm sworn to save lives and we had stumbled upon a plot to assassinate the Chancellor. I cannot say I am sorry for doing what we thought – I thought," he corrected, " - was necessary to carry out our mandate, for a chance to actually save a life rather than constantly taking them…"

And there it was - the personal motive behind his actions, the reason he had been so quick to accept the clarion call of the Force. How many bodies had he walked amongst in just the last month; how many liters of blood had he scrubbed from his boots? How many lives had been snuffed out, bodies blasted into oblivion because he, General Kenobi, had ordered his troops into battle? So many, too many. So when the Force had given them this chance, he had seized it with both hands, offering himself as an all too willing servant heedless of the cost to the living.

"I once thought you and Master Jinn were the best of the imperfect Jedi Order, that despite your myriad flaws you fit the role of my knight in shining armor all too well. Your imperfections have only grown over the years. Qui-Gon expected so much of you: once when I was aggravated with you he told me that on the whole you were a fine young man who would only improve with age into an even finer man and Jedi. Well, you've lived up to at least part of that: you are a perfect example of a Jedi," from the way she spat the word, it was no compliment, "but as a man you've only diminished and your charm has long since fled. Qui-Gon Jinn would be sorely disappointed in his apprentice."

He apparently still had a heart, for it seized up at her words – worse, her absolute belief in them. They hurt; badly. But Obi-Wan detachedly realized he probably deserved her scorn and approbation for it was quite likely she spoke the truth.

"I stood over your coffin; I cried for you in public, you – you knave."

Oh, yes, of course. He could feel the blood drain from his face; he should have realized. He took a step forward and reached for Satine's hand. He supposed he should be grateful she allowed it, but there was no answering warmth, no squeeze in return. "Satine, I am so very sorry – it didn't occur to me – I humbly beg your forgiveness although of course you are under no obligation…" Force, he was babbling as he had not babbled in years.

"Satine, please..." He drew in a deep breath. "Why have you sought me out? There are more public places to air my flaws if that was your wish, more public places for me to grovel as well."

"I – I…" Satine sighed, and her hand reached up to touch his cheek. "I wanted – I'm so glad you're alive, Obi, I really am. Oh, to hell with decorum." She kissed him.

He closed his eyes, leaning into her caress, yielding to the moment as it was, a moment of truce that prefaced what would surely be a difficult and yet necessary conversation – only to yelp at the sting of her open-palmed smack.

"If I wasn't a pacifist, I should like to be the one to murder you a second time. You arrogant swine."

Obi-Wan's eyes popped open to see the Duchess walking away from him, back stiff in outrage. His fingers strayed to his cheek, where he could almost imagine her slap might have left an imprint.

_Oh, Satine, I did what I had to do_... but the thought echoed hollowly. At last he could finally imagine what Qui-Gon might have felt, so many years ago when he set aside his padawan for another, when he had been on the other side: regret and resolve.

Duty came first.

So maybe, just maybe, Qui-Gon's disappointment with him would be tempered by understanding.

Because both of them were Jedi first, men second: each of them, driven by duty, driven by the Force.

_A Jedi's life is one of hardship, and of sacrifice_. It had never rung so true as now. But even those words were bereft of the entire truth. The truth was around him, in the silence, in the coolness of a life apart from the warmth of others. A Jedi lived for others, but in living such a life, a Jedi lived apart from others.

And so, he sought not warmth from others, nor comfort, either. That way led only to pain – and Jedi sought not to inflict pain.

So Obi-Wan drew the Force and his borrowed cloak around him and stood as he had so often in the past and most likely, he suspected, he would often in times to come: alone and wrapped in one threadbare cloak and a panoply of regrets.

Waiting in dutiful solitude for the Force's Duty to call.

* * *

><p>"Ahem," turned to "ouch"; neither exclamation uttered out load. Standing down the hall, Anakin Skywalker watched, first a kiss than a slap, then as Obi-Wan bowed his head. Stood, and did not move to his side, nor away.<p>

Anakin had borne his grief alone. He would let Obi-Wan bear his guilt alone, too, at least for a while. Reconciliation, if it came at all, would have to wait.

He turned and walked away.


	20. Chapter 20

Yes, I promise, this is indeed THE END. It's done. Over. Finished. But the seeds of distrust remain...and the Chancellor is really quite good at spouting fertilizer.

* * *

><p><strong>Epilogue 2<strong>

_Every new beginning comes from some beginnings end_. "~~ Abdul Basith Nazeem

Okay, okay…Anakin squared his shoulders. He was not happy; he would not be happy for a long time with his former master. But this estrangement from Obi-Wan made his unhappiness worse; Padmé had helped him to see that. It was time to let Obi-Wan have it – a long lecture, a piece of his mind, and, oh blast - a big ol' hug and a stinging slap on the face (the latter on the other cheek; Satine had done enough damage there). It would do them both good – Obi-Wan would get what he deserved and Anakin could give him what he deserved.

Then maybe, just maybe, they could go forward and pretend this had never happened.

And if would be an enormous help if Obi-Wan was – well – again Obi-Wan. Had he been transformed back or was he still wearing the hated visage that had haunted Anakin? He couldn't imagine that Obi-Wan wanted to prolong his appearance as another man.

A frown wrinkled his forehead: what was Ahsoka doing here? He approached slowly; stopped as he reached the doorway, surmising that his apprentice had caught Obi-Wan on his way somewhere – probably the healers under the circumstances. He had to grin at what he saw. Ahsoka, from all appearances, was giving the senior Jedi quite the lecture – arms waving and voice firm. Obi-Wan – well that was a surprise – was rubbing a finger across his forehead as if he had a headache. Since when did Obi-Wan meekly accept a dressing down from a junior? _When he knows he was in the wrong_. This was going to be fun; he had no compunction against eavesdropping under the circumstances.

"And Master? Please don't hurt him again."

Ahsoka was so earnest on his behalf that he was touched. At least the women in his life had his back. How would his padawan take the expected, "I will do what I must" or "I cannot promise such a thing"?

Obi-Wan reached out with both hands and gripped Ahsoka's shoulders. "I will do everything within my power to keep Anakin from harm – even from myself."

Anakin could only guess that a big smile spread across his padawan's face. What else would prompt the slight, tentative smile now visible on Obi-Wan's – Hardeen's – ah, heck, whoever's face? "And you, Padawan Tano – I ask your forgiveness as well – will you forgive me?"

"You're asking my forgiveness? I - of course, Master – and Master – he'll forgive you. I'm sure he will."

Anakin's eyebrow shot up. So sure are you, Snips? Aw, who was he fooling – he'd forgive the old man eventually. Forget though – no, that was not going to be near as easy.

"Forgive a face like that ugly mug, Ahsoka?" Anakin unfolded his arms and stepped into the room. He stabbed a finger towards the hated visage. "I might forgive Obi-Wan if he ever shows his face around here again."

"Anakin," this man who was his former master and was not murmured.

"Yeah – some of us don't disguise ourselves and play dead," Anakin snapped. He shifted on his feet, eyes warily studying the man before him. "Look – I only want to have this out with someone who actually resembles the man I want to punch out, so – so go transform yourself. I want my master back; facing the man who 'killed' him is weirding me out."

After a moment's hesitation, Obi-Wan nodded. "All right, then," and started for the door, only to be stopped by Anakin's hand on his arm.

"We could substitute a whipping with the saber," Anakin grunted, not looking at Obi-Wan. "After missing the sight of Obi-Wan's face for a while, well, it'd be a shame to mess it up." He raised his eyes to those of "Rako Hardeen." "The less damage there is, the easier it is to fix things."

A hand reached up to cup his chin. "Yes – it would be a shame."

"Still," Anakin mused, "dents need to be pounded out…"

"Yes, yes, but dents are not always visible, Anakin."

Their eyes met – and tentatively to be sure, shared a smile.


End file.
